I have these sticky notes. They line my computer background, they clutter my virtual desktop, the travel in my portable office. They are text files I keep open to remind myself of my goals, todo lists, small notes. I have one that I keep open nearly all day, every day. It is titled, “People I want to emulate.”
On this text file I keep a very short list of people I admire and dare to imitate. It’s like my own version of the, “What Would Jesus Do” bracelet.
It’s been one of those weeks. The kind that I blame my parents for setting my expectations of life too high.
Why the hell did they tell me I could be anything I wanted?
That I could achieve! And that I was smart! And OH SO ABLE TO DO ANYTHING I WANT!
‘Cause that’s just a mid-life crisis waiting to... Read more
1. When your priorities are all effed up.
2. Pondering ways to move the earth’s orbit so days are 31 hours each.
3. I have a blog??!?!?!?!?!!11111!?!?
Years ago Mr. Flinger and I found a book called “Burnt ToastRead more
In a possible “entirely too much transparency” moment, I have to confess:
I’ve been thinking of three.
Babies, that is.
I was pretty sure my clock had plumb run out of ticking. I was pretty convinced being pregnant was NOT IN MY CARDS EVER AGAIN OH DO NOT EVEN LOOK AT ME THAT WAY UH NO.
And now? Now? I have the baby fever again.
My husband is taking cold medicine to prevent that from spreading.
I was sure we were done. I am sure that we’re done. But oh, OH, Internet, we make such adorable children.... Read more
I remember visiting a family friend in Dallas when I was 10. I flew, on a plane, alone, to spend four days with their family. Looking at this now, I can not believe they let me go.
My mother planned ahead and mailed a letter to me, most likely days before I ever left. It arrived on the second day of my stay. The bottom of the letter was signed, “love ya, Mom.”
That closing made me ache in homesickness. It spoke more to me about my mother than most of the letter. It was exactly how she spoke. “Love ya.” It is not “Love YOU,” just... Read more
It’s been a day. You know how people say this, “It’s been a day,” and nobody ever says, “oh, what do you mean?” It’s like The Pill. Someone says The Pill and you know that means THE PILL. Not headache medicine, not Vitadmin D, but THE Pill.
It’s been a day.
And while I can certainly give you details, let’s face it: You KNOW what that means. There’s a list of things that started out great and went to crap. Quickly.
It’s funny the things people will say when you enter a difficult situation. My family was uprooted from the upper-middle-class subburbs of a major metropolitan city with 300 days of sun at the end of Jr. High. We settled in a mill town in a small rural area of a state that sees 30 days of sun a year. The entire time my parents sang chorusses of “But you can remake yourself! You can be anything you want! You get to start fresh!”
Dude, I was 13. I was fresh. I had no idea who I was in the first place. Also, these people don’t peg their pants like we do and why aren’t... Read more
People so often lump a person’s “core” within boxes. Boxes of artificial labels society places on ideals. “Republican.” “Pro-Gay-Marriage.” “Working Mother.” “Christian.” “Athiest.”
Our values in my family are above labels. They are paragraphs of ideals, gray areas of judgement. They are curated over years and formed through connections. They are intangible but visible.
Between work and family and bills and co-workers and clients and rainy drizzly days and sick kids, it becomes rare if not... Read more
My children were playing “little fucker” at Home Depot?
Now, look, before you get all judgy, let me just preface this with a post I wrote two years ago to prove I have no idea what I’m doing as a parent. Ok? I had a plan. I had a theory. That theory sucked.
In retrospect, the “time and a place” mantra could work. Teaching your children that anyone can say anything as long as it is the appropriate time and place is rather discerning. I don’t want to... Read more
We’ve practiced this routine for years. Perhaps not exactly as performed, but we’ve spent years slowing building to this precipice. I know my partner is standing on the platform. I know my pole awaits. I am as prepared as I’ll ever be as I climb the steep set of narrow stairs one after another.
My feet dangle on the narrow step, my heels hanging off abrupt edges. If there was wind in the arena, I would feel it brushing the bottoms of my feet as I walk higher than air.
I dare not glance down. I dare not look up.
The lights dim and I take my place.... Read more