My brain is suddenly singing “Sippin’ on dat sizzurp” a rap lyric I picked up one time when I mistook the hip-hop station for NPR. Normally I’d be worried that my inner voice sounds like she flunked out of public school, but right now gangsta seems more relevant than GPA.
Two weeks before the Big Day, our favorite urban cowboy rock star had to cancel. He was technically the third musician we had booked to play a live set before and during the ceremony. So, I handled the dissappointing change in plans as I had the two times before: I laid facedown on the floor and… Continue reading Apparently, A Music City Wedding Needs Music. Apparently.
I am currently typing from the Dead Dog position. Sister to yoga’s zenful Downward Dog, Dead Dog resembles, well, a dog in the final stages of rigor mortis. All paws extended in the air, the Man Child is zooming toy cars up and down my shins, I think. I can’t feel my legs through the throbbing. He… Continue reading Dance-Dance-Dance-Tastic, Everyone! (Except for you, Old Girl.)
At fifteen I had surgery to repair a gnarly ankle. It was to be a simple procedure, one overnight stay in the Children’s Hospital and six weeks on crutches. I was elated to wake in the recovery room with little pain in my problem foot, just a throbbing headache from the various high-pitched squeals… Continue reading Notes on Limping (and Blogging)
Breakfast table. Three kids and a lady with hair resembling Diana Ross during a particularly testy airport security check. I supervise as the little one’s eat. I am trying my hardest to be the fun aunt, so as my niece and nephew scarf down piles of fresh fruit and ask for more water, I go against the… Continue reading Candy For Breakfast: It’s not always fun to be The Fun Aunt.