I have wanted a tattoo for as long as I can remember. I’ve also known that I wouldn’t get one until I was 100% sure that I would not regret it, or regret it if you love misspelled tattoos as much as I do. I figured 50 is the age I can finally be allowed
The year was 1984. My mother squeezed me into a blue jumper with a doily collar, red cable knit tights and black Mary Janes. It didn’t occur to…
We homo sapiens love to think that our primary capacity to reason, process and respond to massive and little details of everyday life in a manner that self-reflects sanity makes us the ultimate beneficiaries of evolution. That our unique ability to delve deep to the repercussions of our next course of action before undertaking them
Binge-watched anything lately? Yes, we all have unabashedly washed the sensational Marie Kondo’s tips and tools on how to organize our things. Her tenets have been ingrained in all of our mommy brains as we swiftly move through our cupboards and cabinets, seeking out the meaning of the term “sparks joy.” We’ve seen and contributed
The irony is not lost. As I juggle I forget all that I am juggling. The kids, the husband, the writing, the website all disappear into the concentration of the catch. I have been practicing juggling for many laborious weeks without getting to the point that I could say I can juggle. All those clowns
We’ve all heard and read stories about how a parent’s death can bring out the worst in their adult children. It can be Jerry Springer meets the Kardashians… ain’t no one comes out looking classy or dignified. The infighting often devolves into a fight to the death over a favorite serving platter or lamp. Throw
I collect people. Not in some creepy Jeffrey Dahmer way. And not in the urban dictionary sense of adding random followers to my social media accounts. But from phases of life to states I’ve called home, places I’ve visited and groups I’ve belonged to – I have assembled a group of people, my people. Some are part
Technically, it was negligent homicide. But in the eyes of my nearly-adult daughter who came home from work to find I had re-homed her Betta without her consent, my act of aquatic malice was unforgivable. I had the best of intentions, and this poor fish had been sitting in a tiny unfiltered tank for weeks,
It’s 6:55 AM on a Saturday morning, the only day I can sleep in and for some reason my mind is hyped like a Jack Russell with a tennis ball. There will be no more sleeping going on. Also, thanks to new memory foam pillows I received for Christmas, I can’t even adequately suffocate
I have to tell you that my early years were great. I had a lot of fun—cruising on my banana-seat chopper from one Kick the Can game to another, trolling forests with the neighborhood gang, being president of a shoplifting club. (Sorry, reader, but the adrenaline rush of pocketing a Hello Kitty eraser is a