Bear It Well [RANT]

This post got out of hand. I may want to post more than once a week if life is gonna be like this. You may want to read in doses:

Yesterday’s scripture study reminded me of the value of bearing each others’ burdens. I was struck by how, in relationships that last, helping and supporting has to go in both directions. No one likes to be the one scrubbing and cleaning while the other supervises and/or plays. (Not referencing Martha and Mary here, but it does sound similar. One was cleaning and serving while the other actively learned from the leader among men. Both are noble tasks. We just need balance.)

I probably shouldn’t write about my feelings this week since it has been a busy one. Maybe you should opt out of this post now, so I will start at Thursday and let you know a story is live on Substack.

Now to rewind the film and review. We started with a long weekend, three days for the hubby and four for the babies. (None for me. Mama doesn’t get a day off.) Most of you have probably picked up that I don’t enjoy being the only person cleaning while everyone else plays or continuously blocks my progress. But we were having friends over Monday and I try not to scare away my friend with my filth.

So I woke up last Friday with a sore throat brought on by my new friends, allergies and sinus drainage. I still wonder if I wouldn’t basically come down with a man cold every time they hit had I grown up with allergies and adapted to their place in my life. I muddled through and cleaned some things, continuing my ongoing efforts to tidy my house one toy, one piece of junk mail, and one mystery item at a time. My husband swooped in and boxed up some items I had left in hopes the kids would help. He informed the kids he threw them away. No one enjoyed the resultant screams and complaints.

By Monday we felt capable of hosting our guests so the kids could play but I wasn’t up to the full day of excitement. Thankfully, one of my friends suggested we skip the dinner portion. (I still sent them home with brownies and have some left. Guess who isn’t eating healthy today or tomorrow?) Another guest pointed out that our house was hotter than outside. It only reached 80 degrees, so I hadn’t clued into our AC needing a checkup. 

I just adapt if the temperature falls between 50 and 80 degrees. (I am the lady in sandals, shirts, and a t-shirt when others have pulled out their down-lined parka.) My body was trained to adapt to that wide array of temperatures at a young age. All the fans in my house growing up pointed at my mother to keep her from melting and the trailer wasn’t well-insulated. In fact, my mom insisted on rolling down the windows of the car in the middle of winter because she was hot. Wisdom dictates that I am not in charge of the temperature for the happiness of people who are zero to fifty percent polar bear.

The following day, a tall young man came to help resolve our temperature issues. I think confirming with my husband that we wanted the repair took longer than the rest of the visit, which included replacing the faulty part. I appreciated this efficiency as I had other things on my mind…

Wednesday was a perfect day for cake and celebration. That date requires such pageantry since I officially became a mom. My little pooch enthusiast even started her day off right by petting a neighbor’s dog. She may have gotten some stuffed puppies of her own since allergies preclude a real puppy or kitty taking over our hearts and home.  I think baby sis almost exploded from excitement while waiting to present her gift. Overall, satisfaction and happiness stemmed from the givers and receivers.

Thursday found more confusion on the bus route. Because we live off of a busy, fairly straight road, I can see the three stops before ours as I wait for the return of my cuties. The bus barely stopped at the first one, zipped past the second one though the mom tried to flag him down though the child was nowhere in sight, grabbed the girl at the stop before us, and then he stopped for us. The sub informed me that the stop I referred to didn’t exist and drove off. So someone got to experience car line.


The afternoon was even more traumatic for another child and their parents. We had been informed of a bus change. Then another change was announced. The app said the kids were still on the first substitute bus. I decided to live by the adage “don’t trust the app” and hurried to the bus stop. The bus stopped at the stop below us, where it released the child it forgot to pick up earlier in the day, but the other student who got off at that stop didn’t have a visible parent, so she got thirty to forty more minutes on the bus. I feel like they should let us list people we trust to guard our kid in case we get caught in traffic or such, but no one at the bus depot has approved that idea when I put it forth in the past.

Retrospectively, the dad may not have been able to get down the street with his car and had a younger child with him. About an hour before I raced for the bus stop, a loud hissing sound from outside made me think my neighbors were having their house power washed. I was later informed that emergency vehicles had the road behind mine blocked off, so it may have been a water main break or a gas leak.

Thankfully, the substitute bus driver didn’t question me claiming all the kids from my stop since work delays kept my neighbors from reaching the stop before the bus. Another neighbor let my children pet their dog, so it was a puppy love win again.

The rest of the day and night was spent working on my prize of the week: the story I mentioned before. Have you read it yet? Offer me moral support.

Yesterday was a little less frazzled aside from letting one child’s stuffies take a ride on the amusement park rides we know as the washer and dryer. I may be testing a hypothesis about weather one can wash them repeatedly without having to play Doc McStuffins. I should inform you that fluffy friends purchased at the dollar store don’t take this kind of treatment well. Thankfully, I keep needles and thread close at hand. 

Now I must leave you, but I must tell one last little story about how my life is going right now. I drove down to the church today. As I neared the building, I noticed that the larger parking lot was completely blocked by a huge tree. I promptly parked in the smaller lot, jumped out of my car, and wandered over to take a picture. I proceeded to send said picture to people I hoped could handle this situation with wisdom and alacrity. I then went to check on the neighbor to see if they had input on the subject of the tree.

I believe our accents, hers adorable and probably from some lovely European country and mine from the south of this multi-faceted country, were working against us. At one point, she assured me she didn’t pushed the tree over. It was a large tree. She is a sweet, tiny lady older than myself. That thought never crossed my mind. By the time I left the church, a tree crew had arrived to help assure plenty of parking for tomorrow morning. I have done my due diligence. We shall see what this following week brings.

Spoiler: a party is happening and cake is being baked.

Opting Out [RANT]

Lately, people have been opting out of my Substack posts. I didn’t sign on for so much poetry either but bear with me. My muse is prepping some stories for October. If I can work my way through some of my other piles of “want to do” items, I might even post a story before this month ends. If you are keeping tabs, it didn’t happen this week.

Technically, this was the clones’ first full week of school, but they have today and Monday off to assure that lack of consistency I am coming to expect. This may be my way of gently letting you down. A story may not be forthcoming next week either.

My number one fan has already tried to stay home with me a couple of times. Watching me shuffle through piles of this and that in the hopes of making our house weigh less isn’t most people’s idea of a good time yet she seems drawn in.

Maybe I should start a podcast where people can watch me grumble to myself as I try to clean and tidy the disasters that accumulate over and over again in my house. Who wouldn’t want to watch that? I can see some of my commentary that will keep them coming back:

“Has that really been there all summer?”

“How did I miss this corner?”

“Why is she hoarding this?”

“For someone who keeps complaining about the mess, why did he leave this here?”

“That’s what that smell was?”

“We might actually have a pet in here…”

“Oh my, she is a hoarder like me…”

Yep. We do terrible things to our children just by giving them our genetics. At least I gave them giant heads to hold their brains, right?

Maybe you’d opt out of watching me dig through what is probably just piles of garbage. If I were car line compliant, I might opt out of the school bus route. The bus has yet to arrive at the time that we were told it would arrive, either morning or afternoon.

Honestly, it hasn’t been either consistently late nor early. The app which is supposed to make it easier to know where the bus is hasn’t proved helpful. One minute it says the bus is on the opposite side of the road, parked at an intersection and sixty seconds later, it is approaching. Mind you, looking up doesn’t always mean I will then see the bus.

Other times, the bus sits just within view of our stop idling for unknown reasons. I try not to pry but it sounds like a confused child a couple of stops before ours neither wants to go to school nor return from school, so everyone waits.

Yesterday, I was treated to an extra half in the sun while the bus finished its previous route. They had the decency to call after I had already left my house, since the bus was ten minutes early the previous day. On that occasion, I raced to try to catch the bus only to see it zip by and turn around to head back to the school. I think the confused child forgot to get on the bus that day. Is it wrong to think that people who have that much trouble getting their child to acclimate to the bus and respect that it is not a private conveyance might want to give carline compliance the old college try?

I just want my kids to arrive at a consistent time, so I know they have time for breakfast at school and when I will get them off of the bus, so I am not running down the road even though I left my house before the bus should have left the school…

Is that too much?

Does mama need to much?

Trash Thunder [RANT]

Woke up last Friday morning to what I assumed was more thunder from the previous night’s storm. Instead, I realized the nice men we pay to haul away what I deem unusable to the dump. If you know me, you know my history of up-cycling what other people would throw out into usable items. I have many friends who continuously give me items they have no use for to boost my creativity and happiness.

My husband thinks I am just hoarding garbage. At least my garbage doesn’t sit in areas designated to specific uses such as food prep until someone else gets tired of working around it and moves it for them. I know I am not alone in being the trash mover of the house. As they say, a mother’s work is never done.

My little darlings have been enjoying camp the last couple weeks. I had hoped to be more productive in my trash filling and moving efforts, but something isn’t quite right with me these days. Is it the continuing lack of a full night’s sleep? Does it have something to do with summer weather versus my charming polar bear nature? Could it be the smoke hanging over us like that table right next to the smoking section before they banned smoking in restaurants? Do I need an honest to goodness vacation where my nervous system isn’t plagued with everyone else demanding that I make them happy…even at the expense of myself?

Probably a little of all of these.

Like any self-respecting writer, I made some time to write, yet I still haven’t got ahead of my writing goals. I did find a stash of old writings in my hoard. They were written by me. Should I polish them up and present them to substack? Would you pay to see what was going on in my teenage mind? 

Suddenly, psychologists are checking in on this page with interest…

Snow Way I Can Do All This [RANT]

Despite the poem I shared on Substack on Sunday, I find myself struggling to make time for God or much of anything really. Are all the mamas feeling like these piles of ice and snow are piled on top of them or is it just me?

I shall try to keep my words brief because we all need to get back in the fray and catch up on January. In my effort to do that, I worked on more of those little journals that I make. I have to grow some confidence and rent a space at a craft fair to get these beauties into the hands of appreciative buyers. 

I also started a top secret mission. I am slowly sneaking garbage out of the hoard of my baby trash dragons into an actual trash can. Even the mama trash dragon, who upcycles paper into lovely journals, has some limits on what is salvageable. Honestly, that might have prompted me to fall down the upcycle rabbit hole again.

Meanwhile, due to an insatiable need to tell everyone that editors have value to writers, I am unofficially editing two of my friends’ contributions to the written word. One has even been letting me know when poems go live, so I can get to them quickly. Anyway, the book I just read needed one editor to catch the easy fixes and another to dig in and convince the writer to fill the plot holes. I am fairly certain my Goodreads followers are questioning why I keep reading when I am clearly aggravated by typos and misused words, but I don’t always push through. I opted to not finish a couple of books already this year, but I have spent too much time on this topic. Please point out my typos to me. I eventually catch them and wonder why no one took the opportunity to correct me.

Maybe that is because so many people think they should tell me I am wrong about such things as my own preferences. I definitely won’t get started on that one. Because I want to reassure you about something important:

I resisted the temptation of my inner redneck today. A cashier at the grocery store was dressed as a cow. A very adorable cow. I giggled to myself, but I did not sneak up on her and tip her over. Overcoming my childhood programming one opportunity at a time over here. 

Hopefully, the huge piles of ice melt enough to not make me feel concerned as I walk my tiny humans to and from the bus in the middle of the road… Stay strong mamas. I’m sending positive energy your way. 

Stray Thoughts [RANT]

I’ve had a million stray thoughts. But every time I sit down to bring them together to share with my dear readers, something intervenes. The phone rings. Questions are fired. People check in because the snow is freezing our brains but thawing our worries. Speaking of that, hope you are all doing well.

In one moment of clarity, I realized why hobbits have so many meals. They get interrupted before they finish the first one, so they need to pep themselves up to continue being adorable and carefree and somehow send some heat to those lovely bare feet. 

Side note, going outside to check the mail in flip-flops when a thin layer of ice covers the sidewalks is colder than one would think, but not as cold as sinking into a snowbank while trying to pitch something in the trash can. I put on thick socks and shoes when I repeated this endeavor at the recycling can a couple days later. This time, I slid down the snowbank surrounding the trash cans instead of falling through. It might be cold out there.

I also found cause to wonder about the difference between a butt dial and a booty call. People who have received them know that a clear difference exists  though the former sounds like the latter if it occurs in an impromptu inappropriate moment. May none of us ever receive those —particularly from a relative. (Now that is the seed of a truly horrifying story…)

Women’s clothes don’t always have pockets, or useful pockets. And some ladies don’t enjoy carrying a purse because it leads to carrying a small yet heavy portion of our hoard around. Thus women have had to rely on nature’s pocket, which for some could house a sizable gun and for others barely offers a place to secrete a small wad of cash to be pulled out and offered in a sodden mass to horrified cashiers. So if a woman stores her phone in her emotion support garment, would an accidental call become a boobie call or a boob dial? And which would people prefer? Ornithologists would definitely vote boobie call (masked or blue-footed preferred).

Now that your mind is clearly in the wrong place, feel free to go plunge into that snow, which has probably turned into a solid layer of ice, and cool yourself off. I shall return to trying to finish anything between interruptions. All the mamas who know they shouldn’t homeschool but suddenly find themselves doing so know what I am talking about…

Rest Well Inspiration [RANT]

Once more life has crept in and piled stones on top of my muse. As she has been unable to breathe, the words dried up. I am working to lift off the stones but it is hard going, and people who claim to be helping are piling more stones on the pile faster than I can remove them. We’ll get there, dear readers. And then enjoyable stories will flow freely once more.

I need the stories to flow because, frankly, not having my own source of income has reached an untenable point. I have mentioned it before, but sometimes I just want to provide things for my children without having to ask, beg, or get a second or third opinion that agrees with mine and comes with a different degree than the two I possess. 

I have a BS in French and a BS in International Business. The university I received them from was accredited for both at the time of my graduation. I’ll spare you my disappointment with recent curriculum changes. But neither of those degrees was as industriously earned as the unofficial one I get every day in the trenches of motherhood and marriage. So trust me when I say that I have the best interests of my children at heart and I think about them all of the time. If I happen to forget, they invite me to cuddle them to sleep or allow me to pull them into my coat as we huddle at the bus stop in the freezing cold. If I have reached a conclusion regarding those tiny suns that I orbit, it isn’t a whim or a fancy, a lot of thought and planning went into my decision.

As previously alluded, November proved a dry month for my musings. Did you notice? I did but I couldn’t force out subpar writing and pass it off as worth the price of admission. So some feelings bled out in poetry and radio silence took hold here for a bit, but I am trying to rally. After all, I used to think I could write 50,000 words every November between family engagements and being high on pie.

The demise of Nanowrimo (National Novel Writing Month) hit some of us a little harder than expected. Yes, we could still write but where were our comrades in the fight against that blank page? I feel disconnected from my writer friends. Was it COVID? Was it discovering part of my heart wandering around outside my body and needing mama’s love and attention? Maybe?

Maybe I need to rebuild some severed connections with people who get me and value my opinion and share my love for words and weird and wild and wonderful. Why do we let ourselves get disconnected? Why do we let our loved ones become less of who we fell in love with?

I’m all questions, so perhaps I should wrap this up and go answer questions my writing pieces have been asking for months now. Cheer me on!

The Right to Be Heard [RANT]

As a child, I used to throw tantrums. Not little ones either. I would scream, cry, kick, and make a ruckus. And let me tell you, tiny little legs can be a massive destructive power against the walls of a trailer. But that was the only way I could make people hear me. Blood pouring from my mouth, knees, or feet generally caused minimum interest. Asking for help fell on deaf ears. It feels like I am back there now.

When you calmly try to tell people that everything isn’t okay, they nod hopefully and offer advice. They mean well, but you can tell that they aren’t seeing the problem because you aren’t screaming it at the top of your lungs. If there isn’t blood, how could you be hurting? And, of course, if anyone else is involved in the issue, we have to give them consideration and time to be better. But what about the one who has been trying to be better all along? And is now being told to dig in some more and it might take a while?

The only conclusion I can reach is that the problem does indeed rest with me. How many times will I be told I am not worthy of respect and that I asked to be hurt because I bothered to wake up and breath? Do you really think it is helpful to cast blame on the person who is seeking to make it better?

I guess my option is to dig in and wait. Hopefully, while doing that I can protect others from letting part of themselves languish in limbo because someone else doesn’t want them to shine…

In the meantime, at least I have tiny koalas to remind me that I am important. They don’t shun me for trespasses that don’t exist enough to be voiced. They don’t turn their back on me because I express complicated human emotions. And they aren’t teenagers yet, so they still believe I know a couple of things.

Do you?

Mama’s Wild Ride Continues [RANT]

So I left off before the joy of Halloween night. Mama werewolf walked Red from “Descendants” and Vampirina from house to house. Despite the chill in the air, I returned home all warm and cozy thanks to my hat, my gloves, and my lovely cloak. My brother felt I needed the hat and gloves. I guess he knows me after all.

People were generous with their donations to this sweet night. In fact, I kept informing them I did not need anything. I was just carrying buckets for the girls’ overflow. Maybe next year, I will be less of a helicopter mom and watch them from the street as they knock on doors. Maybe next year, I won’t see my oldest charging into people like an adorable wrecking ball that loves candy. My children may never finish all the beloved candy they scored. Hmm. Anyone interested in buying some Trick-or-Treat brownies?

The rest of the week has been a jumble of appointments and stress. Being a mom and a wife is not for the faint of heart. When one can’t sleep, the whole world takes on a whole new light. I think I am living the mombie life to the best of my ability. But others tend not to agree. Hoping for a little more sleep and a little less exhaustion this upcoming week.

Despite that, I keep getting up and doing as much as I can as fast and as well as I can. Someday, I hope to whittle down that old “to do” list. As any mom will tell you, that is easier said than done. Some tasks renew themselves daily: dishes and cooking, for instance. Others are at least on a weekly repopulation schedule such as laundry and trash. And then there are all the line items that seem to jump from everyone else’s list to mine because I clearly have so much free time. Does anyone else have kids who constantly try to outsource their homework to you?

Due to my car refusing to start, my new friend pointed out that I needed to make a trip to the DMV. I find it ironic that they tell us not to get on our phones while we sit in line waiting indefinitely for all the cars in front of us to roll through for inspection. Good thing I scored some physical books to read. Even better, my car passed inspection.

Anyway, nothing too exciting to report. Hopefully, next week proves as dull. In the meantime, I am serious about selling some brownies. 9X13 pan, filled with chunks of Halloween candy that I shouldn’t eat and definitely shouldn’t feed to the tiny humans I have to chase if they make it to the ceiling. Any takers? $25 seems to be about the median price (with a discount) for local delivery>

I also have been trying to cure myself of my hoarding. Some lucky locals have scored some of my old stuff. But I have some crafts that need to be appreciated and my kids might like it if I score a little extra money to pay for summer camps and other extracurriculars, so if you have a need for handmade journals or random jewelry, we should talk.

Until next time, remember that you are awesome and anyone who tells you otherwise needs to reevaluate their life choices.

Are We Caught Up Yet? [RANT]

Did I get you all caught up last week? I certainly didn’t get myself caught up. I posted one of three posts I am anticipating for substack before tomorrow. That means, I should be simultaneously updating this site and that one. Even I am not that good. Clones anyone?

My girls made a new friend this weekend. A friend’s son has been a little shy at church, so I suggested he make some friends at church. He suggested we get out kids together. Now my oldest might want to adopt the little fellow. I got told I sound like someone’s grandma in my twenties, so I am prepared for this.

I also tried to get through some of the tasks leftover from last week. Unfortunately, I got into a screaming match with one of my children earlier this week. I do not recommend this as my body sided with her and a disc slipped out of place in my back. Thus I have been slowly working my way through the laundry, dishes, and a million other mom responsibilities while trying to keep sounds of distress trapped behind clenched teeth. Should my family life really feel like a jungle where any sign of weakness will have them leaping on me?

Speaking of wildlife, my baby koala hasn’t been able to lavish affection on me the way that she likes. Her preferred method is to hug me and then wrap her legs around my legs and hang on. Generally, I love this, so I am hoping my back feels better soon, so I can go back to being mama koala.

Since I don’t have anything deeply exciting to share aside from my need to tidy up and prep some activities to keep the tiny humans happy while I listen to General Conference (more on that hopefully arriving on substack later), I shall let you return to your regularly scheduled activities. Keep catching up. We’ll conquer the “to do” list and relax…

Eventually...

Right?

But Did I Die? [RANT]

Did you notice that I disappeared? For over a month? Maybe? Maybe not?

I haven’t been wholly neglecting you. If you think I have, then you clearly are not one of my four subscribers on substack. I am also lacking in paid subscribers, which means my goal of socking away a little money for those extras my girls want (that I don’t object to) has not got off of the ground. Should I try to sell you baked goods instead? Contact me privately if you are willing to pay me to bake you a cake or cookies or brownies.

In the interest of time, and hopefully writing more fiction than retelling my own life, I shall try to be brief. What have I been up to?

I went to visit my in-laws. They showered my kids with toys. We missed the back to school night where we find out who gets to teach our little darlings this year. By the time we returned home and I found quiet time to call the school, it was barely under the wire of the school day. Too barely. No one answered my call. My girls went to school with only the eldest knowing who her teacher was due to the school social media app. I told the younger one to go to the teacher her sister had two years ago. I was only half joking. I was also entirely correct.

They survived their first week and we had friends over for labor day. Who knew my house would be party central? Makes it easier when I don’t have to transport every random dessert I decide to make that day.

Then my brain began obsessing over my oldest daughter’s birthday. Between making sure she had a treat for her birthday, making sure Nana and her auntie got to see her open gifts, and planning a little get together with a handful of her friends for that weekend, I might have gone a little crazy. She went off to dance auditions with her dad because I needed to attend the back to school night and meet her teachers.

The next morning found me back to obsessing over her party. We scored some little stepping stones. Some are adorable turtles. Others can hook together to become a little balance beam. I figured those could keep the attendees occupied for a bit on the party day. I baked a cake. We acquired waters and chips. I was semi-satisfied with the tiny fairy I made for the top of the cake, since my daughter changed her mind from an pegasus with wings to a Barbie theme. Thank goodness I hoard cool baking stuff.

Then I started conversing with some of the parents. One said her husband had tested positive for COVID that Wednesday. Since her daughter goes to school with mine and mine had what I thought was a cold the previous weekend, I realized I probably didn’t hide us from the rest of the world long enough after her illness. In the interest of not spreading that joy around, I postponed the party for a week. Most people could still come. 

Then I spent another week obsessing and cleaning. And I remade that fickle fairy. She turned out better this time. I might almost be a pro. I also remembered to buy ice cream, as per the birthday princess’s unspoken request. (Mom’s can read minds.)

So this gets longer and longer. The party went well. Everyone seemed to have fun. My daughters both enjoyed my thoughtful ice cream choices. Some of the guests lingered. This happens when they are basically family and your kids have trouble with the idea of stopping their play before total exhaustion makes them collapse. When our guests left. I covered the small amount of deliciousness to avoid attracting other sweet junkies and my body informed me that I had been overdoing it for about a month and needed to go to bed.

I haven’t quite recuperated from all the running, which continues. Moms have more jobs than even they realize. I have posted a couple of pieces on substack to make up for the week I failed that venue as well. Anyway, I have left out some things because otherwise you will be exhausted from reading this. Hope your week is relaxing.

Sleep Lessons? [RANT]

This week convinced me that I need sleep lessons. My Covid-induced allergies returned and brought random nighttime coughing with them. Sleep deprivation kept me from realizing this was the culprit until the fourth time I woke up coughing up a lung on day two or three. Honestly, I thought the exhaustion stemmed from not enough protein and waking up at the slightest sound since I have a child who likes to sneak around like an elephant learning to walk at all hours of the night. Reminds me of the cat I stole who thought she could hide behind a shoe.

Anyway, I decided to help my now confused nasal passages move along by using  the Flonase my doctor prescribed. That halved the late night coughing sessions but loosened something up, so I thought I was going to die. No idea how people live with allergies. It has been throwing off my groove.

Needless to say, I have been wandering around in a fog, wishing for sleep and saying weird things. So when the teachers share weird stuff that my kids say about chocolate, I will only have myself to blame. Anyone else anxiously waiting for someone else to entertain their kids since they have been given a less than stellar rating by those sweet little critics?

Another critic gave me the grocery store version of a standing ovation yesterday. As I wandered around in search of yummies to keep the household happy, I rounded a corner at a probably inappropriate speed. I tend to get a little excited toward the end of my shopping journey, so I don’t always remember to slow down going around corners. As I sped into the next aisle, a man looked up startled. His eyes focused on my face and widened as a smiled in that way I do when I see a particularly lovely cheesecake or cake or cookie or green muppet. I smiled in acknowledgement and continued on my quest for frozen pizza. (My elephant has an addiction and I’m her dealer.)

I was quite proud of that man for only noticing my face. Of course, the ladies in the check-out line noticed my fancy new shirt, which informs the world that my family tree is full of nuts. True story…and most days, so is my belly.

For those keeping track, I have posted on Substack this week. I am still figuring out the ins and outs of this endeavor. Sadly, I am not writing as much as I should. I need to work on that, so more of you will decide my creative endeavors are worth supporting.

In the meantime, have a great week and remember that you can not hide behind an object smaller than yourself…

Unless you have a cloak of invisibility.

Birthday Bashes [RANT]

Just a reminder that my substack has gone live with paid posts. You can subscribe for free and get all the free posts delivered to your inbox or pay a little and get every post sent to you. I priced the subscription as low as possible and have been posting at least twice a week. Summer has kept me busy, so most posts have been poetry, but I have high hopes to get more short stories out in the fall. In the meantime, wish me a happy birthday by letting me know what strikes your fancy here or there.

My brain keeps refusing to let me sleep until I address its need to write poems about various dark creatures. If I didn’t have an angel on the other shoulder prompting me to write light pieces, I might be concerned. have been posting these sweeter pieces for all subscribers because the world needs more light. I guess that means we pay for darkness. Seems valid.

The rest of the week has been devoted to pre-birthday celebrations. I have eaten cheesecake and Italian food. I have been carefully working through the freebies that find their way into my inbox. I have to get something for letting different places send me propaganda almost daily. 

Even better, my girls continued their camp happiness this week. Yesterday was their last day of camp, so they performed a cute little hula show for us. Of course, my brain thinks it is funny and halfway through a song about “hula hands”, it decided we were singing about Major Hoolihan from “M.A.S.H.”, so I apologize to my husband and friend who were sitting next to me for my snickers. I didn’t limit them to that song as I dropped my phone directly on my face while trying to make video to share later, preferably with shy boyfriends who are already terrified of me.

Clearly, I will not be taking up videography as a job any time soon, but I still think I missed my calling as baker. Luckily, I get to bake cakes for some of my adopt-a-family. I also keep forcing people to eat delicious brownies because otherwise I will eat them all myself. Please don’t let me eat all of the brownies myself. I do not wish to buy new clothes.

Anyway, my birthday swiftly approaches and we’re supposed to be celebrating again today with a little family trip to eat Italian food. Yes, I might be addicted to deliciousness.

Welcome Back [RANT]

So I have entered the realm of instagram. Shout out to anyone who ended up here from there. A bigger hurrah to my long term readers. I am sorry I have neglected you lately. I need to make time to write when my muse feels like sharing, but her favorite time to share is when my eyelids have that itchy feeling they get when they just want to be pressed together. I could try recording my thoughts or using voice to text, but then the rest of my household will come running to see what I am murmuring about in the darkness. That will result in less sleep for me, which can’t possibly resolve the issue.

Of course, the insta-road like most I travel has had some missed turns and unexpected u-turns. A couple of days after joining Instagram, they suspended my account. Apparently my affection for Spock and Data and lack of posting led them to believe I was a bot. As of this moment, I am back on the gram (with a square of chocolate and a melty marshmallow), so feel free to find me, follow me, and support me.

I do wonder if Instagram’s temporary rejection of my reality was their version of support. I did have another writer friend encourage me to spend more time on my own personal projects than my feeble attempts to network and advertise and my ongoing assessments of the works of others, which requires reading and, as a fellow writer, just shows some respect by giving reviews and feedback.

In other news, April is coming up fast. As usual, I plan to follow along with the inspiring prompters at Writer’s Digest, so fans of my poetic stylings should be gratified.

And for those who are like, none of this is anything new to normal people. I offer this discovery from my amateur archeology as I seek something to write:

TO TOXIC FRIENDS

I’d stick by you through thick and thin

But you’d just betray me again

So when you walk away, keep going

I know the foolish feint you’re doing

But if you are fool enough to set me free

My life will be as it should be

As yours comes crashing around your ears

No more harness helping me assuage your fears

So swing loose, swing free

And let go of your hold on me