This is a season filled with moments that bring glee, the warm fuzzies, and memories. Unfortunately, we often miss those moments while trying to be the perfect host, the perfect guest, the perfect shopper, the perfect gift wrapper, and, well, the list goes on. Screw that.
It’s not the first time I've taken my Mom shopping since she died, tucking her tiny urn into a pocket for a day out. It sounds batshit crazy, I know, but there is something very cathartic about it.
Is this a TMI entry? Maybe? I’m not sure. Dad, read with caution. I have a few friends who have become amateur hormone dealers. By “hormone dealers” I mean they are becoming experts on the role of estrogen or progesterone or testosterone or chocolate paired with romantic comedies on the female body and, more importantly … Continue reading Hormone Harmony? Tell Me More.
Did I just become Julia Roberts? Were we about to head back to all those other stores, waving our bags around while declaring, “Big Mistake. Big. Huge.”?
We have created the first generation that will die with fewer memories of their own lives than those of others. That's not good news.
Tomorrow, I will be a little sad to have this trip behind me... ...but... I do leave for a work-ish cruise in just ten days, so perhaps that will help.
In just a few hours, I will be off to Musher's Camp with tiny bits of beef jerky tucked into my pockets to ensure that the sled dogs like me best. Will I also bring a giant purse suitable for "borrowing" a puppy? That's not important.
When we dropped our youngest off last weekend, Rich and I both felt this weird mix of doom and delight. As it was just after we’d dropped him off last year that the first shoe dropped, there was a natural gurgle of PTSD. Could everyone just be cool this year and…stay alive?
“I can guarantee you one thing. A new purse will never throw up a pair of children’s underwear.” It was a long weekend, full of regrets.
What is life like outside the Disney bubble? Look around. Do you see any Mickey waffles on the stove?
