I’m sitting at a table in the train station I should’ve have been in. Rerouted from Leiden - Munich through Utrech. If this sounds like Greek to you, it sounds like Dutch to me.
I do not know Dutch.
I’m a fevery, sore throat, flu-like mess. Navigating additional stops and go on the train to see Betty. Feeling a bit like a lame American who only speaks English and one word of Dutch. And while it’s a very useful word (“met” means “with”) it’s not helpful to walk around like Beaker going, “MET MET MET MET”
In twenty minutes I’m on a train and then another train and then another and finally a fourth train that will arrive in Munchen at 17:34. I have learned so much this trip so far, have bonded... Read more
I admit, I noticed her coffee mug first. I don’t know why, it was a perfectly normal coffee mug. Perhaps it was the size of it (Good for water, I thought) or the way it slanted in the pouch of her backpack (Must be empty, I considered). These are the types of thoughts my mind created to keep me from tearing up. I didn’t want to think about leaving my crying preschooler again. I didn’t want to think about him sobbing and yelling, “I WANT TO GO WIFF YOU!” with his scratchy, sore throat in a fever fit. I didn’t want the Mommy Guilt to hijack my mind. “You are a shitty mother, a selfish mother, a fucking god-awful mother.” So instead, I looked at her coffee cup.
At some point I realized I was staring at her. The train whizzed through a... Read more
Maybe this is old news to you because you talk to me daily, in real life, and I don’t go three point eight seconds without saying, “OHHMYGOD I AM GOING TO EUROPE IN $variableTime(‘9/28-currendDay()’);”
P.S. I actually speak in code.
But in case you don’t happen to talk to me daily in which I call or text you begging you to go boot shopping with me because A GIRL NEEDS BOOTS, then maybe this is actually news for you:
I am going to Holland tomorrow.
I’m a more experienced traveler this year. For example, I know that when I land in Holland, I’ll have to take a train to Leiden and that I can not... Read more
Upon no recommendation what-so-ever, in fact, upon recommendation against, I went to friendorfollow.com. You know, it’s a twitter thing? You can see who is following you and who is not following you and you can subsequently drink heavily because your coolness factor just went down by a factor of four.
So imagine my horror when I find out Jesus doesn’t actually love me like the bible says. In fact, Jesus is sort of an arrogant asshole on twitter. I mean, I GET IT. If I have seventy billion people pining for my attention, I’d probably cut back on my following list, too. But to not even follow Mary The VIrgin Mother? Dude, that’s harsh.
Yesterday closed out the last of the official White Shoe Wearing Season. I always hate to see that time of year go. Symbolically, I wore black sandals and froze my feet while wading in three inch puddles to various “summer” events. TAKE THAT SHOE GODS.
I’m not ready for fall, for football, for colourful trees. I’m not ready to for long nights and dreary days. But when I think about what I have to look forward to, I’m thankful the people in my life are still here going through each season with me. Each season makes our space more like home.
So with that tone, I say good-bye to a summer full of people we love, even if it was entirely too short, in a 4:58 video.
I thought I’d take this opportunity to share a bit about PHP errors. I often have clients tell me, “My site exploded!” My brain construes an image akin to Ghost Busters where we learn crossing the beams of your proton pack is a bad idea.
*GOODBYE STAY PUFT*
A php error, often obscure (think: parse error) can have a fair bit of helpful information in it.
This morning my site had an fugly php error at the header.
After a quick look, I can... Read more
This year the leaves are not the only things changing this season. My oldest starts first grade, my youngest moves in to Montessori, I turn thiry-five. I am not ready in the same way my Mother used to tell me how Christmas came too early. As a child, that sentence, “Christmas can’t be here already?!” was as unfounded as it gets. Christmas too early? Mom’s gone crazy again.
I am not ready.
I drove away this morning, literally crying, as I left my son for his last day at his daycare. He waved, blew a kiss and signed “I love you” as our usual drop-off routine necessitates. But this time, I was crying, thinking of how much he’s grown and learned, remembering back to the first few times I left him there, scared, worried, watching him... Read more
Mother Nature has been bit of a tease to Seattle this summer, leaning in at the bar just enough to show some cleavage before pulling back and slapping our hand. She buys us a drink, a day of sun, maybe three, and then pushes us away when we reach in to make-out with full on tongue. We purchase sunscreen and sunglasses. We plan camping trips. And then she pulls away, douses our hopes of getting to third base with a week of mist and drizzle at 56 degrees.
In fucking August.
So we walk around, with our proverbial blue-balls, just waiting for the cold shower of month after month of drizzly gray skies. We find ourselves conspicuously... Read more
We are making homemade ice cream today. It’s part of my clean eating movement. I involve the children so they feel empowered to create their own food.
I feel proud and motherly.
We mix the ingredients and begin to poor the solution in to the ice cream maker but I notice the sugar isn’t dissolving. “What’‘s dissolve mean, Mom?” my oldest asks. Something from 1996 and my chemistry minor comes bubbling to the surface.
I’m suddenly a chemist!
“Well, see, that’s a good question, honey. There are bonds in the sugar molecules so they... Read more
Summers of my youth were filled with sunny, sticky hot days, swimming parties, bike rides, and friends. Houston weather, relentlessly suppressing, choked your lungs with moisture. Us kids would ride around, ignoring the heat, to each other’s houses like mormons on mission. We would bike everywhere, arriving sweaty, sticky, and breathless ready to play and repeat the entire process.
This summer, as an adult, I’m able to re-live that experience. Or, at least in my own way, reminisce about it.