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Category: That’s Unfortunate

You Can Probably Smell it from There

What screams “desperate housewife” more: a) baking chocolate chip cookies for the UPS delivery man, b) downing a bottle of wine on the couch during the afternoon soaps, or c) writing a novel feverishly while the children sleep, subsisting on chocolate and tepid water? Please say a or b.  Please. I’ve been wanting to tell you this for awhile, only because it’s like my dirty little secret I keep hidden in a dark corner of the closet (which means–if you’re familiar at all with a couple of our closets–it will survive a nuclear holocaust, because it’s that buried). I am. I admit it. I’m working on a book. Actually, I’ve written it. The rough draft was completed last fall, during a fit of focused determination that resulted in hours of me in front of the laptop, and a house that quickly bulged with its dirty laundry (literal, not figurative), a family that ate Cheerios and some applesauce for dinner night after night, and an indulging husband who sent me text messages to let me know he still existed and made sure the…

The Greatest Guilt Trip On Earth

Before I had kids, I had have a list of things I swore up and down I’d never do.  Some of these things include, but are not limited to, the following: Drive a family vehicle. We all know that four-wheel drive ship sailed long ago. Let my children watch too much TV. That, I’ve been pretty good about. Go to a circus. I hate the circus. I mean, when I was seven it was pretty swell, especially when my brother and I got to ride an elephant before the show began. I can still describe to you the feeling of being so high up in the air, and my surprise at the coarseness of the animal’s hair.  I also remember wanting the animal to hurryupandgofaster, which could very well have been the basis for my habit of collecting speeding tickets as an adult.  Ahem. But as an worldly adult with a conscience and a heart of the bleeding variety?   No way, man.   It was always one of those givens for me, kind of like, I’m never going to knowingly eat a cricket, or agree to jump out of an airplane without…

Toto, This is Why I Don’t Live in Kansas

It all started with a text from my mom.  It was this past Thursday evening, and I’d had a quick dinner with David and the girls before he ran out to a scrimmage with his softball team.  I was planning to give the girls a nice, long bath, put them to bed, then finish writing a post for this blog that was almost all set to publish.  It was one of those moments when I had it all under control. “Man, I hope it doesn’t rain,” David mentioned, checking the sky as he headed out the door.  I wiped off the girls’s faces, then let them loose to play on the living room floor while I cleared the table.  On my way past the kitchen island, I picked up my phone, and when I saw the text I had to read it twice.  It was from my mom, and it said we were under a tornado warning–one was marching its slow, menacing way up the interstate that runs past Mom’s town and, a further on up the road, past ours.  Huge thunderstorms were escorting this tornado–and…