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Into the woods, a little while longer

I may have mentioned that I accompanied my daughter’s class on a field trip on Monday. There’s really no way to describe heading into the woods with twenty-four fourth graders, some of whom believe that nature ends at the edge of the playground.

Chickadee is turning ten soon, and I keep asking her, “So, when do I become an embarrassment? When will the very idea of me daring to show my face within a mile radius strike fear into your heart?” Make no mistake—I’ve already started becoming stupid. Very, very stupid. And demanding. [Insert huffy sigh here.] But so far, she laughs at the idea of my mere presence being horrifying.

She loves to have me come into her class. She’s proud to have me along, while the other kids cluster around and ask to see my nails, my phone, my shoes; they ripple with shy happiness when I remember their names; I am a rare and exotic life form in the classrom, and it never ceases to amaze me. Still, my days are numbered. (more…)

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Sometimes love is a laughing cow

I have a pretty complicated relationship with food, for a non-eating-disordered normal-weight female. I always used to joke that I was a fat girl trapped in a skinny body. Once I became post-menopausal at the ripe old age of 33, I had to stop saying that—my metabolism no longer allows for the wanton consumption it once did. (Alas.) But there’s no denying that I see food as way more than sustenance.

What do you see in this picture?


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Exposing him to his fans

Regular readers of this site have developed quite an affection for my father, who often leaves comments so funny that he totally upstages me. Even now, he’s still badgering me about that damn pony, and my suggestion that adding “clean up pony poop in the yard” to his to-do list would be less than thrilling will not dissuade him from the notion that HE DESERVES A PRIZE. And you know, he probably does.

So here we go, people. Today is your day to love on my dad. I’m going to tell you some important things about him, starting with the fact that today is his birthday.

(And no, I STILL haven’t bought him a pony, because I am a rotten, rotten daughter.) (However, I have it on good authority that having produced children is more or less a “get out of jail free” or—more accurately—“have your past sins forgiven by your longsuffering parents” card.) (more…)

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Gains and losses

Here’s the thing about being FINE FINE FINE in the face of a steady stream of stress: Eventually, something breaks.

When those people came into my house and broke the soap dish off the wall yesterday, maybe if everything else was dandy that wouldn’t have been a big deal. But there’s a lot going on, and so many changes happening, and as a result, it was a big deal. It was a very big deal.

I broke. First I was angry and indignant, as I repaired the tile last night, and as I tossed and turned in bed, trying to sleep. And then this morning, as I tried to pry open the tube of caulking and it squirted everywhere and I needed to start getting ready for church, I just sat on the edge of the tub and wept. (more…)

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Love unfolds

Tonight my children bounced off of one another and careened around the upstairs and generally behaved with good—if somewhat frenetic—cheer. When I flopped down onto my bed and asked if we would be reading tonight, Chickadee rushed to my side.

“No,” she said, putting her hand over our book (which was still sitting on my nightstand), “I don’t want to read tonight.”

“Really?” For my kids to say they don’t want to read is akin to declaring that they’re not in the mood for oxygen. It never happens. “Why don’t you want to read?”

“I would rather have some quality family time,” she replied, while I swallowed my tongue from the effort of not laughing. (more…)

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Love is remembering and sharing

In the last year and a half, I’ve managed to transform my hobby-and-occasional-gig into a sustainable career. Which, frankly, still amazes me. When we were down in Georgia a couple of weeks ago, someone asked me what I did and I answered, “I’m a writer” without batting an eyelash.

I had only a short period of time to bask in this accomplishment before the logical follow-on to triumph took over: Exhaustion. Freelancing is not for wimps. There are no paid vacations, no sick days, and it’s very easy to fall into a pattern of working all hours, every day of the week. And then? What initially felt SO GOOD starts to feel a little bit like the third circle of hell. (more…)

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Love remembers

Because I was raised Jewish and then fell into a rather extreme Christian religion in college, when I regained my senses I was (understandly, I think) a bit wary of committing myself to another church. It wasn’t that I didn’t still consider myself a person of faith; it was that I was beginning to realize that first I needed to know what I believed, apart from what a group of people might tell me to believe.

My (ex) husband (is) was Methodist. I went to church with him. Sometimes. The Methodists seemed nice enough. (more…)

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Love is choosing joy

Love is the joy of the good, the wonder of the wise, the amazement of the Gods.




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I got one thing right today

I walked out of Monkey’s appointment this morning so furious and frustrated that it took me the better part of the day to recover. I feel like I’m a fairly reasonable and educated person; I am used to being treated as such. Nothing gets my hackles up more than someone who I feel is doing my child a disservice… except, perhaps, a person who treat me like a hysterical mommy WHILE doing my child a disservice.

I am not a hysterical mommy. I am many things, and Lord knows I am too emotional about many of them. But I know my kids, and to tell me otherwise is to draw my immediate suspicion.

And here I’d thought it was going to be a good day, too, because we were finally going to get some help, maybe, and because my last post hadn’t even drawn that much assvice! But then we didn’t get much help and the comments I knew would come popped up and then I had to make a big pot of mashed potatoes and stick my face in it. (more…)

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Orbitz sent 3 travel updates. . .

… all after I’d already gotten to the airport. I’m SO GLAD I gave them my cell phone number so that they could… send me email letting me know that the plane was delayed. Those people at Orbitz are ALWAYS THINKING! Why call me there at the airport when I might’ve found the information useful? So much better to find out—after I get back home—that my plane is late. Yes.

I am typing with two fingers and only one eye open, but figured I’d dash this off before turning in. What’s another half an hour once you’re up this late? (more…)

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