I remember that moment in detail: the door to my room cracked when it wasn’t just hours before as I fell asleep; the laughter of my parents following me out to the living room; my dad saying something about “Santa” placing those presents under the tree as he set up the bunk bed for the dolls I asked Santa for; and the sudden cold realization that Keith from Mrs. Getchie’s third grade class was right: There was no Santa.
I know times have changed. I realize children mature earlier and deal with stresses much much earlier than we did. I realize each generation is shocked with reality as it creeps in to children entirely too early. But it seems to me, a four year old, shouldn’t question Santa Clause.
At four, my daughter is just now... Read more
We’re all feeling the pinch. I, personally, REALLY need to hear good news from the economy before I hear more bad news from Mr Flinger’s office. Oh, Dow, you slutty ho.
So, this season, I officially declared Re-Gifting the new black. The New Financially Responsible thing to do. The “Latest Trend In Gift Giving.”
It is so because I said it is.
We’re giving the children a large piano her Uncle and Aunt purchased for her when she was 15 months old. It was a Christmas gift from 2005. We’ve moved it twice. It’s in the... Read more
Tomorrow my son, little baby “O” is due for tubes. TUBES. Internet, I have to tell you, this is possibly the best day of his life.
Or is it?
I’m scared. He has no clue. We’re set to be at the hospital at 6:30 AM. Nothing to eat or drink from midnight on.
But, he’s sick. He has another cold. He is snot and coughing and… well…. what d’ya know? He’s digging at his ears again. Just like he always does when he gets a cold. Those damn ears.
Apparently my sister was a tube baby. She was one handful before tubes. Tubes changed her life! Tubes let her hear! Tubes set her free from anti-biotics!
I know I know.
But y’all? My son? Is about to get put “under”.... Read more
In the words of my husband who wrote these down on a sticky... Read more
You know those dreams that are so real you remember them, feeling the aftermath, for hours/days after? Lately my sub-conscious has run amok with tails or the President (elect), a forced marriage and really hot men hitting on me.
Most of the time I don’t analyze my dreams because it’s almost always a combination of some spicy casserole + alcohol + being woken up at some-strange-hour by a screaming kid. Perfect recipe for delicious sub-conscious meals. But today’s dream was both wonderful and disturbing. You’ll help me analyze it, won’t you?
:: lays on couch ala Therapy style ::
So I’m visiting an old old friend, I don’t even recognize where we are except somewhere in Houston, back in our old... Read more
Clara’s been dressing herself out of the laundry hamper as I’m folding clothes.
Today, she put on a hat. And her own shoes (on the right feet!). And my underpants as a necklace.
Today I woke up having not forgotten to email any clients, having not forgotten to finish anything and having slept all night long not up with a sick husband or kids or a the slideshow from hell.
Then I remembered sarcasm.
*My window today. Rain. Go figure.Read more
For a few weeks now The Little Man O screams in the car. We’re talking ear-piercing, high decibal, painfully loud, “taking others down with me” screaming.
I’m sure you can imagine.
It finally hit me last night. The car seat! Oh Mah GAWD, it’s the Car Seat.
I looked back at him pulling at the straps screaming. I went through my memories of him somehow managing to squirm out of those same straps, of him standing on the seat as I drove down the highway, and of him arching his back in defiance, which I thought was purely that, definace, when I placed him in the car.
Until I remembered the manual for the seat.... Read more
I’m famous in my circle for loving 1998. Look, 1998? It was good. There was Dave Mathews Band. There was grunge. There was boots and hiking and being fresh out of college.
I love me some 1998.
So, today when I donned on my long sweater/robe the mister glanced up in his usually uninterested-in-my-wardrobe way, I was suprised to see him eyeing me. “Hot, aren’t I? Still got it!” I said as I slapped my ass.
“Uh, no, thkat’s not it. That sweater? Isn’t it a wee bit 1998?”
“No, it was more like 2000, thankyouverymuch. Jeeze.”
Tells you what he knows.
So, Internet? Brutally Honest: Is this the revival of a fantastic ass-loving trend? Or am I abusing 8 years of fashion... Read more
My husband regularly tells me I am the most ADD person he knows. I tell him he doesn’t know a lot of people. He tells me he can’t know too many more people because I’m all the people he can handle.
Then he kisses me and slaps my ass in fun and turns on the TV.
Lately I’ve had this urge. I often get “urges” or “a bee in my bonnet” or “any sort of cliche you can think of here that is a nice way of saying totally lost my shit.” Sometimes I crave my favorite city Bellingham. Sometimes I need to fly home to Texas. Sometimes I ache to hike or camp or kayak. But not in the way you think of a normal person missing things she used to do before kids. No, it’s more like a lady with PMS being told chocolate is... Read more