I look around, and it seems strange to me that people are still going about their normal business. Others seem nonplussed about the news, but surely, like me, they must be reeling on the inside. Yes, it was weeks ago, but my shattered life is still in pieces and I’m trying to hold my shit together … More The Zodiac Killer
To Wesley Dean and Henry Patrick, While you are too young to know how this world works, or how it doesn’t, I want to give you these words for someday when you can understand. I want to let you know about words that, although I know your mom and your other nana will also teach … More An Open Letter to Wesley and Henry
I grew up with quite a patchwork of church experience. My grandpa was a “preacher” (I always want to add “man” on to the end of that, just so I can say my dad was a son of a preacher man…) who spoke in tongues and led us to many “tent revivals”. The best way … More The First Church of Don’t Be A**hole
Shopping in your forties is the exact opposite of shopping in your twenties. In 1990, I found all sorts of awesome clothes (read: peg legged Hammer pants, acrylic jacquard sweaters, little black dresses) that fit my rockin’ pre-baby, pre-Martha-Stewart-Living, pre-peri-menopausal body; I could afford to buy exactly none of them. Now, I have the means … More Mirror, Mirror; Or…Why I Bought A Dress I Thought I Shouldn’t Wear
I remember the day Elvis Presley died. I was 8, and my mother was uncharacteristically beside herself. I didn’t get the drama – I didn’t like his music and I just thought it was weird that so many women found him attractive, fat guy in a white jumpsuit and all. Funny how that day has … More It wore a raspberry puree. And it was delicious.
I casually referred to Donald Trump as “Satan” yesterday. Yeah, like the Church Lady. It isn’t unusual for me to resort to hyperbole. “Ugh – this guy in the Saturn is the slowest human being on earth.” “Oh, my, God, the lady in front of me at Kroger had two million coupons.” Or “I just … More Trump, Church Lady, and Namaste.
Spoiler alert: I’m in a bad goddamed mood. As a teacher, I reveived a lot of presents at the end of the year. Handpainted mugs. Plants. Gift cards (unfortunately none from a liquor store, as I had hoped.) At the end of the last school year, I had been notified that due to budget cuts, … More Platitudes, Schmatitudes.
The end of the school year is always stressful for all teachers, but the end of the 2014-15 school year was, for me, purgatory. Which is ironic. Wait for it. It was a lovely afternoon in early May when the principal asked me and the other first grade teacher to the office after school. I … More RIFfed. Or…”Fair Only Comes To Town Once A Year.”
Teaching new parts of speech to six year olds is not an easy task. In Kindergarten, they learned that words are letters put together in a certain order and have meaning. They learn that print moves from left to right. They learn that sentences are words put together in a certain order to make sense, … More #droptheadjectives
Kate of my dreaming Unruly spirals of strawberry silk Eyes as blue as his Your chubby hand touches my face and I am awake. I don’t think a March 13 will ever begin with anything but tears for me. As I was lying in bed this night before, dreading my dreams, dreading awakening tomorrow morning … More The Blanket