Contrary to the flat, thud design of these caveman feet, I was a dancer once. What began as an opportunity for my mother to get an hour-a-week break from my spazzing self transitioned into an hour-a-week chance for my spazzing self to put a rhythm and heartbeat behind my moves, to believe just for a … Continue reading »
When people learn that my son was over 10 pounds at birth, they usually get this horrified and empathetic face about them. They speak consolatory words while inadvertently staring at my crotch. I never understood this because a push is a push. A hole is a hole, and a head is a head. But … Continue reading »
When I tell people my favorite memory of childhood holidays is the carpeted ceiling of a ’89 Caravan they get all uncomfortable: Was she kidnapped? Raised by gypsy drug dealers? Sold into a life of forced blogging, writing skills exploited by a cold-hearted pimp? Oh, the adventure! But no. It was a lot simpler than … Continue reading »
… Throw a tantrum at meeeee. My son wiggles free. I’m stuck clutching three pounds of stretched cotton balls and feeling ridiculous. I’ve wasted four bucks if I can’t just get the kid to dress up as a tampon. Not to mention that piece of “emergency”rope I cut from the garage door for a makeshift pull … Continue reading »
The family sits all friendly enjoying a family friendly episode of The Fresh Beat Band about a bunch of friends who love each other like family. The boy jumps and sings off-key, but his impressive shoulder rolls and fist pumps distract from the sound. I make a simple observation. Simple Observation: “Oh. That’s weird. They replaced … Continue reading »
