To my daughter on her second birthday,
And like that, she’s two
I packed up your high chair the other day, you no longer use it. These days you insist on sitting in a chair at the table, just like your big sister. You’ve become her twin, her shadow, over the past few months. There is no where she goes, that you do not follow. It can be both adorable and frustrating as I try to keep you both in line. Continue reading
Where do I start? Do I begin to give a background on the story of the Snailiens? Do I tell the tale of how each of the Supersonic Shell Fighters were gifted their names by their small unidentifiable bug sidekicks? Maybe with the fact that their mortal enemies are anthropomorphic ticks, also with unidentifiable bug sidekicks? Are they even snails? Why do they have weird armor beards or eyebrows, each with a corresponding color? Why did an action figure with zero points of articulation and a snap on two piece armor set resembling the McDonalds Looney Tunes DC Super Heroes Happy Meal Toys capture the heart of so many children? Continue reading
“Keep up that fight, bring it to your schools. You don’t have to be indoctrinated by these loser teachers that are trying to sell you on socialism from birth. You don’t have to do it.” – Donald Trump Jr.
I have been thinking about Mrs. Miller a lot lately. She was impossibly nice, had beautiful blonde curly hair, and taught the 5th grade. I can’t remember much of what I learned in her classroom that year, but I do remember how she made me feel: smart, creative, important.
Fly little one
Dear daughter, a letter on your fourth birthday.
You are the one who made me a mother. You are the one who changed my world. And this year, you are four.
The holidays are upon us
Dearest millennial host,
It’s me, your 19 pound turkey, dropping in with a very important message about Thanksgiving. I know a written letter seems a little formal, especially since you are about to be wrist deep inside of me, but it’s pretty hard to get your attention any other way.
For example, do you remember the other day when you thought you heard a noise coming from your trunk while you were on your way home from the grocery store? Well, that was me trying to get your attention.
My “cold and flu season” decorations are finally up.
Twas the night before cold and flu season…
Twas the night before [insert thing I was looking forward to doing here], when all through the house, not a child was sleeping, not even with their favorite stuffed mouse;
Their outfits for tomorrow had been laid out with care, in the hope it would speed up our morning routine if we prepared.
Instead I found children piled high in our bed, sniffling, and sneezing as we held damp towels to their heads
I should have realized it yesterday, when my youngest went down easily for her nap, my carefully planned schedule was about to go to crap. Continue reading
I’m grateful to wake up another year older today. I know it’s an experience denied so many.
After being serenaded by my kids, and eating a wonderful breakfast cooked by my amazing husband, I answered the age old question, “Do you feel any different?”
The short answer, no. Continue reading
A letter of thanks from the formerly failed wife.
When I initially wrote this piece for Huffington Post about my whirlwind journey from wife to ex-wife, I didn’t really expect much to come of it. Honestly, I assumed a few people would read it out of morbid curiosity and then never give it a second thought. Fortunately, I’m very used to being wrong.
Since the piece went live Friday morning I have been receiving emails and private messages from people who have experienced similar “failures.” It’s been unbelievable, and I promise I am going to respond to each and every email, message, and comment that I have received as soon as I can think of something more eloquent to say than, “Oh my god, thank you.”
Our Friday the 13th cake topper
Eight years ago, when all of this happened I felt lower than I ever thought was possible. I was sad and hurt and angry – so angry – that I thought there would never be an “after” for me. No, I wasn’t going to feel better after some time had passed. I wouldn’t look back on the experience afterwards and gain some sort of insight that I didn’t have before. My pain would only lengthen with time, it wouldn’t lessen. It would remain tethered to my heart, like a balloon on a string, and it would follow me into every relationship and experiences for the rest of my life. I would always be under its shadow, and it would always taint everything in my life.
The Fourth of July is finally upon us. I can tell thanks to the sweet, subtle sounds of shit exploding outside my house. The relentless ballistics begin around supper and continue until well after I’ve passed out for the night #merica.
Don’t judge my collection
The familiar percussion, while equally obnoxious and annoying when you have two sleeping toddlers, serve as a reminder that summer is already half over. And to that I say, yaaaaaay. Continue reading