Post mother’s day…


There is something great about not feeling guilty when you leave all the dishes from lunch on the table and excuse yourself to go lay down and take a nap…

It’s great to sleep in…even if you’re awake for the last hour of ‘sleeping.’

There is something fantastic about having a few drinks with another mother that rarely gets solo time…

Something insanely great about handmade presents of adoration brought to you at the crack of dawn…

It’s great being a mom.

It’s great being able to let go of a little guilt and to know they will all let you sleep peacefully for a day…a day at least.

I know I’m going to treat my mom to a fancy night out…because she deserves it.  She also deserves to not be taken out on mother’s day because neither she nor I like a crowd.  Only a fool would go to brunch at noon on mother’s day. 


I’m not avoiding you


I like hiding out.

Duality.  That’s the word I’m looking for.  Or recluse……introvert perhaps.

I’ve been trying to put into words or tangible thoughts the dual world that I sometimes feel I live. 

Let me explain.  I have a very social job.  I must be the day-maker for my people and I must be chatty and all that greatness.  I have to try to be the best part of their day.  I enjoy it, I really do, it’s a blast. 

Then, when I have my time to myself, I prefer to not speak for hours.  I prefer to be alone.  If I’m out shopping and I see someone I might know, I might pretend not to see them, and I might dodge into another aisle. 

It’s just that I’m not prepared to be on.  I’m not in that role in that moment and I honestly just don’t want to disappoint them.  I’m not as personable and funny as when I’m working. 

It’s the right versus the left brain yet again.  Everyday. 

Introvert.  I think that’s the correct word.  I need alone time to recharge. 

I like to hide under napkins in the sunlight, much like lovely #1. 

Still hate the dentist…

So I’m here with my tiny little 5 year old baby at the mother fucking dentist. 

Those of you who know how this brain works, know that my blood pressure sky rockets when I drive past this place, let alone being inside an office watching this awful process happen on my tiniest little precious lovely #2. 

I want to bash their faces in.  I want to pull the sharp silver daggers out of their hands and drive them into their eyeballs.  I want to smash the stupid, calming, lava lamp into the awful flower paintings on the wall. 

I can’t look. My eyes well up a little. 

But just like that, it’s over…and she’s fine…and I can breathe again.  My cold, clammy hands can allow blood back in.  Thankfully I didn’t have to flip over tables and break windows.

Young or old??


Today I am 32 years and 364 days…which means that, yes, tomorrow is my birthday.

It means I’ll be 12 years past doing 21 shots and 15 years past buying cigarettes and voting. 

17 years past 16. 

I’m only 7 years away from being over the hill but I’m only about halfway to retirement…or death. 

I’m one month away from having a fucking 9 year old, brilliant, hilarious,  pre-pubescent lady.  And 6 weeks away from also having my youngest kid turn 6.  6!  For fuck’s sake!

Thankfully, I’m 15 minutes into this glass of wine…

If we were rhyming and we said that 32 is all about you..or 32 and feeling blue…

…then 33 is all about me! 

…or 33, poop and pee.

Mouse poop??


I tell you, nothing is more of a motivator to clean and scrub your house than finding mouse poop on the edge of your butter dish.  Those little scavenging fuckers.

I’m sure it’s because it’s been negative degrees for many many days now, and because those little Houdini’s can squeeze through the smallest of cracks.  While I feel sympathy for animals left out in the cold, I feel no sympathy for this little turd maker and his whole fuzzy turd maker family.  I wonder how long this has been going on behind the scenes?  Is there a new crop of babies down there somewhere??

I am pretty tidy and observant, but I admit my house has been quite crunchy lately.

I spied the mouse shit yesterday.  Immediately, I got in the car and went to buy the twisty mouse traps that lock the little shitheads in.  You never have to see them…you only see the little red line pointing to the words: mouse caught. 

Ugh. Sick. 

I admit, I think mice are kind of cute.  All that cuteness goes right out the mother fucking window when there’s one helping himself to spreading butter on the toast crumbs piled behind my toaster!  Those are OUR toast crumbs, rodent.

Needless to say, the kitchen, and whole house actually, are now crunch free.  So, I actually kind of need to thank the little fuzzy bastard for initiating the deep clean that needed to happen to my house. 

He’s dead now. 



I have the whole day off today. No errands to run, no appointments to go to, nothing…until I fetch the lovelies from school, I am alone. I love it. I need it.

My plans are vague.  I like it that way.  I am going to bundle myself up and set myself up in a cafe with a hot cup of Joe.  Um…autocorrect wanted that to say hot cop instead of cup. That might be ok too…

I’m going to write today. Something I don’t tell people is my writing process.  Everyone has a process.  Mine is to wrap myself up in a scarf and put up my hood so that just my eyes show.  I take off my glasses.  I cross my legs and try to get as warm as possible.  I don’t hear anything.  I lean into the screen as I type and pay no attention to meaningless mistakes and punctuation. I just go.

Solitude…even amongst a cafe full of people. 

I write for a while that way until I’m sweaty or lose my groove.  Then I undo everything and stretch and take a sip of my hopefully still hot beverage with two hands.  Then as I get back into the groove, I slowly begin wrapping myself back up.  Back into the cocoon.  It’s interesting that the more I cocoon myself the more honest my writing is. 

But I lie sometimes.

Day 2


As I listen to one of my favorite Pearl Jam songs here in my car, I’m reminded how small changes can turn into big changes and big changes can turn into lifetimes. 

A lifetime of good or not so good.  Let’s change for the good already.  I’m hoping I’m on my way.  It’s taken me a long time to figure it out and to have the guts to go forward with it.  It’s scary. 

Eddie sings to me and makes me feel better. Hearts and thoughts they fade…fade away. I changed by not changing at all. 


What would you do if you could start over? Would you? What changes would you make?  What are we waiting for and what are we so afraid of?


start her up


Check out my dirty windshield.

It’s a good thing I was on my way to get a new car….

I was out of washer fluid.  I would’ve made it clean and clear if it weren’t for the spattering combination of salt, slush, and dirt from behind a few 18 wheelers.  Winter driving really does nothing for visibility.

But I got a new car!  It’s nice.  It was time to give the old one back because the lease was expiring, so I got to pick out a new one.  The winter laughs at me…because I got a black one.  By tomorrow, it will look gray.  It was destiny, though.  As I turned the key and started her up, the radio kicked on and I heard him.  I heard my Eddie singing to me. I turned it up to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating from all the waiting room coffee.  It was Eddie Vedder singing Dissident for me.


Lovely #2 also informed me of her first loose tooth today.  I nearly gave away the whole tooth fairy gig.  I mentioned that I might have some of Lovely #1’s old teeth.

What??  Wait….how do you have my teeth?

Well…I wanted to keep at least one for myself.  I’m your mom!  I snuck it and left a note for the tooth fairy saying that I wanted to keep one.  I didn’t want her to have them all.

Suspicious…very suspicious.

Uh…..Hey, check out the cool new car….

It is time.

The time has come. It’s been a long time coming too.  I’ve worked up the nerve and I am ready.  Nearly 10 years it’s taken….

I’m ready because I don’t care.  I’m not trying to make any sort of impression for anyone anymore. I’m ready because it doesn’t matter to me anymore. 

The time has come to fart in front of my husband without shame. 

I fart proudly. I’m tired of holding them in, making my belly hurt.

This fart’s for you!