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Being BLUNT

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Being Moms

“Mom, Max needs your help!” Shrieks my daughter perched at the top of the stairs, staring at the closed bathroom door. What could my sixteen-year-old son possibly need help with that we didn’t cover when he was three, and we practiced aiming with Cheerios. I yell to him to confirm he needs assistance and assess

Being Wives

I drive a beige minivan and have an impressive collection of equally beige granny panties. Sexy, right? My marriage is like a bowl of caramel pudding: sweet, predictable, a little boring. If my marriage were an ice cream, it would be vanilla – no sprinkles . We’re not a kinky couple. Neither of us had a

Being Honest

After the ink was dry on the divorce decree and proceedings came to a close, I thought the hardest part of the divorce was behind us.  I used to empathize with people going through divorces. “I’m so sorry, that sucks. I’m here for you.”  I never knew exactly how ineffectual the “obligatory” sympathy was, until

Being Moms

I am no stranger to disgusting things. When I was 8, my brother slammed his foot in the front door, and his big toe was left with a mangled and eventually blackened toenail. Within a week it fell off, and he unceremoniously tossed that sucker into my Barbie Dream Camper, right next to Ken and

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