A shout-out from the Queen of Onomatopoeia

Slam. Stomp, stomp, stomp. Clap clap. “Hellooooo all!” And I make my entrance. That’s a lot of hullaballoo for an entrance into my own family room, right? But we’ve entered the teenaged years. The teenaged-with–girlfriend years. Oy. I find myself going up and down my stairs enough for it to qualify as aerobic activity. As…

Four more years

I’ve heard this said mainly as a battle cry, when one of our US political parties wants their candidate reelected for president. I say it now as a mother’s battle cry, in disbelief, as I realize how much precious time we’ve logged as a family. And how little is left. I dropped my eighth-grade son…

Mortification by Mama

I. Am. Embarrassing. Or so I’m told by my oldest. Embarrassing with a capital E. Maybe with a few exclamation points thrown in. In fact, I do not even have to work at this quality. It comes effortlessly to me. My very breathing is embarrassing. And, being a bit of a contrarian, I find that…