Me and Roy Rogers and Trigger and life.

When I was a child, I wanted to be a cowgirl. I really wanted to be like Roy Rogers, and I watched his show every day. I DID NOT want to be like Dale Evans. I dreamed of having a horse like Trigger and a dog like Bullet. Dale Evans’ horse’s name was Buttermilk. Blah. Do you remember the Roy Rogers Roast Beef chain? There was one not far from our house, and one year Roy Rogers made an appearance.Read more

Husband, as philosopher.

Hot Firefighter Husband gets a couple of drinks in him, and he turns into fucking Socrates. I was kvetching (AGAIN! I’M A TOTAL BUZZ KILL SOMETIMES!) about the State of the Familial State, an outline of which I have included: 1 – Money Issues a. rubbery checks, and subsequent apologies to the gymnastics coach b. financial inability to buy new underwear c. possible reduction in babysitter hours due to rubbery check risk (GASP! KILL ME NOW!) 2 – The HouseRead more

On Writing vs. Family. Is there a winner?

I worry a lot about My Writing, and by worry, I mean whine incessantly to people I love. Like when Hot Firefighter Husband and I go out to dinner, and he says, “What do you want to talk about?,” I moan and gnash my teeth and say, “My Writing! My Writing!” Then I furrow my brow in a way that totally would not happen if I did Botox. I’ll be honest here: I thought I’d be famous by now. OrRead more

A season of change and lament

Lately I’ve been suffering from Blogger’s Block, but last night I dreamed I was Mary Ingalls getting ready to board a ship bound for a new land where us girls wouldn’t all have to sleep together, but the ship’s departure kept getting pushed back due to cholera outbreaks. In my dream, I thought, DUH! I CAN TOTALLY WRITE ABOUT THIS ON MY BLOG! Then I woke up in my own bed when a certain 4-year-old crawled on top of meRead more

The Motorized Landfill drags me down as Teddy rises above it.

Occasionally, the Motorized Landfill becomes unfit for human habitation. This is usually evidenced by a particular incident, such as the time a cockroach crawled out from under a seat or when we spotted a line of ants marching across the floor mat. This morning, I dropped my keys on the van floor so I could buckle the Tyrant in her car seat, and when I picked them up, they were wet. And they smelled like barbecue sauce. Which made myRead more

WTF?!: Also, did you Labor on Labor Day? I didn’t. But my kids might have….

Happy Labor Day! I couldn’t write that yesterday because, duh, that would be laboring, the total antithesis of how the holiday is meant to be celebrated. I went to the beach and drank beer instead, and now I’m all bloated and feeling like I want to eat nothing but grapefruit and prunes for three days. But that won’t happen. Honestly, though, writing isn’t really labor to me because it’s such a necessary part of my life, like showering. Actually, showeringRead more


When we last left Ronny, she was sitting in her car having a hot flash – between her legs. Check out CHAPTER ONE here. CHAPTER TWO An hour later, I sat at a library table and tried to focus on reading the newspaper. Rising gas prices…blah blah blah…..increase in foreclosures….blah blah…..more marriages ending in divorce…..I skipped that article. I sensed Rafe walking toward me before I actually saw him. I think I’m part-witch that way. I always know when somebody’sRead more

FICTION FRIDAY!! A brand new feature just for you.

This morning, the boy had an itch, so I gave him a dab of antibiotic cream for the bite on his leg. When I returned to the kitchen a while later, the formica counter top had become a canvas for a series of decorative squiggly white worms. And that was the end of the antibiotic cream. I could have taken a picture for proof. But you know what? I’m kind of over the whole proof thing. Seriously, you think IRead more

BlogHer tries to make me a contender.

If I didn’t write, I would shrivel up and die. That’s what’s known in writing circles as hyperbole. It’s one of the tools that writers (and people in general) use to get attention. First of all, the only way I’m going to shrivel up even a tiny bit is to stop eating so much, and even though my trainer Son of Sam says I need to lose 15 pounds to get that HOLY SHIT, DID YOU SEE THOSE ABS? look,Read more

Cast of Characters

Here is an updated description of the living beings in my life. Me: See how I put myself first? You can’t spell F-A-M-I-L-Y without an I, right? I’m a 47-year-old married woman, mother to three internationally adopted children who kick my ass every day. I teach a little journalism on the side. I’m a fitness trainer; I specialize in teaching boxing. And I write – I write this blog, I write stories, I write notes, I occasionally write college essaysRead more