The Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes Chronicles, Part I

On our summer vacation to Maine three years ago, I ate ice cream nearly every day. (Remember, this is Ben & Jerry’s territory. So good.) But I had my reasons. First of all, my dad was nearing the end of his battle with pulmonary fibrosis, and the idea of him actually dying felt vaguely apocalyptic. Like, is this even possible? Secondly, we had left our dogs in the care of a (formerly) trusted housesitter, who handed the task over toRead more

A brief recent history of Hot Firefighter Husband, in cars.

The husband has purchased a 1995 red Jeep Wrangler with skull and crossbone decals and a giant star painted on the hood. Coincidentally, he also has begun cutting the sleeves off his workout shirts. I’m begging him to get a tattoo. “Maybe I’ll get some barbed wire tattooed around my bicep,” he said. I shivered. “You complete me,” I murmured. Last month, we celebrated our 24th wedding anniversary. This month, we celebrate 28 years of being together. I use theRead more

Clipping my own wings while Husband urges me to fly

Twenty-three years ago today, Hot Firefighter Husband married me under a gazebo on my parents’ country estate in Folsom, Louisiana. Dad had installed a ceiling fan because, in his words, “There’s nothing more unattractive than a sweating bride,” which is a fact I had not previously known. To celebrate, Husband is working a double-shift to help pay for our new car, and I am trying to convince our oldest daughter that it is earth-shatteringly important for her to know that tooRead more

The Latest Plan, cont’d. Still Simplifying’. PLUS, A RECIPE!

It’s cold today, and I don’t want to leave the house. I want to crawl into bed with the heating pad and alternate reading a book with watching NCIS reruns. “Which NCIS knockoff has the worst acting?” Hot Firefighter Husband wanted to know. And I was all, “I LOVE LL COOL J AND I DON’T CARE WHO KNOWS IT.” Honestly, there’s nothing I like better than being home, unless it’s being home alone. I like straightening up after the chaos ofRead more

As the New Year approaches.

Eleven days with no writing? Imagine the tips of my fingers all soft from not pecking keys, and my creative brain jumbled with unexpressed thoughts. It’s totes true. But most palpable is the rising sense of panic, the fear that my ability to string words together is as sunk as a concrete-laden body. And add to that the fear that I’ve disappointed you, Generous Readers. In reality, I know you’ve been busy baking cookies, right? And storing away your Elf onRead more

Post-Thanksgiving gratitude list, or non-gratitude list.

TRUTH: I became less grateful as the week progressed. Is that bad? Don’t answer that. I know it’s bad. But listen, you know how stressful the holidays can be. Actually, it’s not the holidays, really, it’s my expectations of the holidays. They don’t even have to be perfect, but fukkit, is it too much to ask that I not have to drag my son to the car when it’s time to head out to our Thanksgiving dinner? Can I have a singleRead more

Food, Inc., My-Left-Hook style. What we’re not eating this time.

When the Pterodactyl was a toddler, he’d often wake during the night screaming like his head was on fire. He sounded like – duh – a baby pterodactyl. Trying to soothe him was futile; he flailed and wailed, his brown hair slick with sweat as he tried to climb out of his mental pit of despair. Hot Firefighter Husband whispered sweet calming words that floated up into oblivion: It’s okay, darling, we’re here…It’s Mommy and Daddy….Shhh, shhh, we’ve got you…..and I heldRead more

Project PB&J, concluded. Fascinating!

You may be aware of the semi-sociological experiment I’ve been monitoring in my car. To summarize: on Saturday, May 24, I made a PB&J sandwich for my daughter and wrapped in a paper towel, and gave it to her to eat on a long car ride. She never ate it, and it sat there. For days. Then weeks. I watched the sandwich carefully to see who might notice and throw it away. Hot Firefighter Husband took my car for an entire afternoon, andRead more

Body image, deadlifting, bisexuality. That’s how I roll.

Did you see this year’s Sports Illustrated Swimsuit issue? No? Me neither. Hot Firefighter Husband won’t let it in the house. He doesn’t want our kids to see it, and he does’t want the girls in particular to see their mother swooning over it. It’s true! I love looking at those perfect bodies! (Note to self: explore possible bisexuality at next therapy appointment.) I also habitually compare myself to the models, and this drives Husband crazy. “Those women are freaks.Read more

Fast food nation slays me temporarily.

One of the weird side effects of being crazy strong is that when something takes you out, you feel like you will fucking DIE. CONTEXT PLEASE, TRICIA! Okay. Last Tuesday was Celebrate Timucuan Indian Day at the Tyrant’s school. The Timucuan Indians populated Northeast Florida long before bankrupt people began moving here to take advantage of the homestead exemption laws. They (the Indians) marked themselves with cool tattoos and wore elaborate jewelry. Trendsetters! Since I am a non-contributing co-Room ParentRead more