The escape artist

In a house where you are the youngest of six children, it is not unusual to feel invisible at times. And when the older siblings always seem to have some drama for your parents to attend to, you learn to become a keen observer and an unwilling empath. I can still feel the energy in…

A barn burner

We absorb what our parents show us, deep in our cells, unknowingly. Even as we fight, as teens, to be anything but them, their love seeps into our bones—the very marrow–changing us. Some of those changes appear as is, others are stored for future us, tempered in our cells with time. It must be hard…

Drinking fountains, circa 2012

I started this blog in late 2012. I was reeling from a soon-to-be consummated divorce and  the recent deaths of my mother and father. I was working more marketing and writing jobs than you could shake a stick at, trying to keep my boys in their house and their school. I was also in the…

Go figure

My boy has a dream. It is not my dream for him. I had a dream once. It was not my mother’s dream for me. She pushed and she pulled and she prodded to get me to accept her dream. I nearly did. But despite a high LSAT score, I refused to go to law…

Up, up and away

At a certain point in my motherhood journey, I stood holding a balloon bouquet so large that I could not see my children through it. A metaphorical bouquet, mind you. Picture little ‘ole me holding a boatload of balloons in my arms. Emblazoned on each balloon was an expectation or wish for my children. Over…

Hell hath no fury . . .

. . . like a mama scorned. I’m not sure I’ve introduced most of you to my alter ego, Cuckoo Mommy. In recent years, I’ve banished her for the most part. She tends to overreact, extrapolate too far into the future and generally worry about things beyond her control. Sound familiar? Any of you with…

Midnight moments off the mapped path

I sat bolt upright in bed, the impact of it hitting me—my youngest son and I have five years together if I’m lucky. Two if Fate is feeling fickle and he goes to a high school that requires boarding. My middle-aged self inhaled deeply, trying to calm the shallow breaths that thought created. For those…

“Oh, waitress”

My eldest is generally spared becoming a human caricature on my blog. Mainly because I think it’s hard enough to be a teen and get through the awkward years without your mom putting you under the bright lights. But this instance. Oh, this one. This one small slice of life on a Sunday afternoon deserves…

Two princesses walked into a . . .

. . . backyard.  You were so certain I was going to say, “bar,” weren’t you? Nah. These were princesses in training—ages not even in the double digits yet. We’ll call them Candace and Sarah. So, as I was saying—two princesses walked into a backyard. Mine, to be exact. Both in their floral dresses, twirling…

The time between door slams

The door slammed and I heard my sons’ voices fade into the night. I believe they were bantering about the World Series, and whether their hometown Cubbies or my hometown Indians should win. And then, silence. The dog looked at me and I at her, both of us at a loss. We are used to…

Scenes from the car

As my foot pushes an imaginary pedal on the passenger side of my one and only not-yet-fully-paid-for car, I yell, “Brake, brake, brake!” “Mom, it scares me when you do that.” “Really, son? Because it scares me when there are brake lights ahead of us at 100 feet, then 50 feet, then 10 feet and…

Hoodies as nemesis

The bathroom door is shut yet again. My God, it is happening. Puberty looms. Not for me, of course. I survived that wild wasteland many decades ago. But for my youngest. I remember clearly the same with his older brother. About midway through that eleventh year, the earth started to shift under my feet. And…