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Here You Are

     “We are born of love; Love is our mother.” -Rumi      It is a rainy day, but it is a new one. A clouded day just months ago was an invitation to stay somber. There’s been such hurt in this place;  I wonder if it wasn’t cruel of me, begging for you to arrive. But here… Continue reading Here You Are

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A Million Hands Are Reaching

“Those who have suffered understand suffering and therefore extend their hand.”
– Patti Smith

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All of Our Days

This will always be the day the sun shone, the son murdered, the world outside your door kept spinning without you. Impossibly, we are left here hundreds of days since July 10th received its brutal, sacred meaning.

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Mercy.

Oh, friends. I’ve wanted to tell you, but there are no words. No words big or right or clear enough, no clue in my hurting, spinning mind of where to begin. I have hovered over this keyboard for two months feeling almost ready and then backing away. But I need you now. We need you now. So… Continue reading Mercy.

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Hostess With The Mostess

It was Internet Cotillion. All that was missing were the white gloves and an awkward waltz partner.

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all ears

Rambler: resists the listening with all her might & mouth. What happens when a loud mouth is forced to listen?

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Giddy up… or just anywhere, really.

My last post was about breaking routines, deviating from the regular route, living wild and free (so long as you have a superbly generous babysitter). These time-as-open-as-a-field days were beautifully lazy. They mostly consisted of not doing the things I was supposed to.  I enjoyed them so much I took another and another and then 30.… Continue reading Giddy up… or just anywhere, really.

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It’s ALIVE!

I tap the fridge door closed with my right foot while completing a 92-degree turn to pour and place apple juice into a sippy cup  and onto a table. My husband swivels precisely to my left, avoiding a collision, plate of mac’n’cheese balanced atop bowl of grapes. Three steps back he takes. Two-and-a-half forward for me.… Continue reading It’s ALIVE!

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The House of The Lord (Has A Fitness Room)

Sometimes I suction on very small spandex pants, wear a sporty watch, and pretend to be an athlete. Such days are typically followed by weeks of absolute stillness, but that’s hardly important. For 45 minutes on a glorious Sunday morning, I am a mileage-dominating beast whose sweat reeks of victory. I couldn’t tell you if it… Continue reading The House of The Lord (Has A Fitness Room)

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One word mayest changeth everythingeth.

Just makes a girl wanna rip her shirt off and yell FREEDOM!

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Emo Baby’s Least-Hated Song is “Toddler Wasteland”.

Like with every other act of parenting, I put on my straight face and made things up. I saw a glimpse into the future with a toddler listening to Dashboard Confessional while crying fresh tears into his black nail polish and let me tell you one thing: Mama ain’t about all that.

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Brown Baby Jesus

And this was what Christmas was. And this was what a family looked like. And it would take some time before I knew anything different and concluded that different wasn’t better at all.

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Glue Sticks & A Gratitude Malfunction

Amid the turkeys crafted from toilet paper rolls, the thrilling promise of pie, and the peace-meal story of Pilgrims, I thought I’d slip some life-altering lessons to my toddler in regards to Thanksgiving. We sat last week and attempted to make a list of what he is most grateful for. Over the span of a… Continue reading Glue Sticks & A Gratitude Malfunction

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A Girl Named Dick

I pictured my future dog, Richard, toting around a messenger bag of fine leather and smoking an ivory pipe brought back from his world travels and driving a restored Beetle and quoting Yeats and probably also retiring from his tenured position as a Harvard professor because he cannot tolerate such imbecilic students. Or Richard would just lick his balls and play fetch and do that weird butt scooting across the carpet and maybe chew some dirty underpants. Oh, Richard.

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Rugrat Rager & The Half-Pint Heathens

One guy just straw-stabbed and shot-gunned an entire Capri Sun in ten seconds. Another dude is sloppy swallowing cupcakes way past his personal capacity. Someone tells him he’s had enough and he throws a fit like a total baby. There’s always that certain point past which each burp threatens to become barf. Some girl dances to… Continue reading Rugrat Rager & The Half-Pint Heathens

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it’s not so strange (if you’re weird when you think about it)

I am cleaning house as usual. Which is to say I am wearing fuzzy pants with green frogs hopping across them and twirling the mop around to match the beat of a song I’m making up and singing for the kitchen walls to hear.  You mosey up to me in your shark pajamas, tilt onto the… Continue reading it’s not so strange (if you’re weird when you think about it)

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Writer, No Writing.

Here are some dangers of thinking/ reasons you shouldn’t really ever take my advice completely/ flaws in my logic: Serial Killer, No Killing. Stripper, No Stripping. Dope Head, No Doping. Drunk, No Drinking. Liar, No Lying. Ke$ha, No…just stop. If you’re horrible then absolutely don’t be yourself. All the rest of youse, carry on.

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Blessed Be The Bored

The best thing my parents ever did was kick us out of the house. I get strange looks when I tell people that. I think they picture 5 barefoot innocents roaming and starving. They half-laugh uncomfortably in hopes that I’m kidding. Then that blatant pity stare washes over their faces. They want to pat my back sympathetically like… Continue reading Blessed Be The Bored

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Tiny Spark Series: Mercy Me. I’ll Mercy You.

I am so good at everything.  This is a confidence I developed over years of pristine dance performances, high-flying cheer leading jumps, A+ papers. I knew with no uncertainty that these feet could spin superbly. I had full faith that I could damn near kill a quarterback with my dazzling chants. And always, always, this… Continue reading Tiny Spark Series: Mercy Me. I’ll Mercy You.

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In Defense of Dudes

Dear Men, I am one ovarian cramp away from flooding this damn house, and I have words for you. Surely you just shit your pants. You most definitely have an immediate list popping to mind of what it is I need to get off mine. Full dishwasher? Dirty laundry on the floor? Didn’t look emotionally… Continue reading In Defense of Dudes

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Piss Poor: A Guide To Potty Training

Along the way I stumbled upon an enticing promise of a flat belly, drank cabbage soup for three days, watched my pooch deflate, and then gained three pounds when I sniffed near an Arby’s. Enough is enough, Internets. These fast-fix tales are false. You whispered sweet nothings in my lazy ear for far too long. I threw down a plastic tarp, strapped on my rubber gloves, and set out to do the dirtywork. I mean bathroom business.

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Oh, The Places You’ll Go! : Straight to Hell Edition

     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 Oh, The Places You’ll Go! : Straight to Hell Edition

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Style

For when you want to become a respectable accountant with a golden retriever and a solid 401K… But you kinda want to slam dunk & date chicks, too.