• Muddy puddles.

    *** Well, ladies and gentlemen, I fit back into my wedding dress. And I’m proud to say there was nary a pair of pliers, spanx or even three grown adults in sight trying to get it on me. Yes, it fits a little, er, differently. But… when I put it on and could actually get it zipped up, I felt as magical and alluring as Melisandre, the red priestess. (Let’s not talk about the glaring visual parallels of me taking off the dress and Melisandre taking off her necklace…) Anyway. It was a personal goal of mine to get back into that dress… someday. I didn’t actually think it would…

  • You’ll see me rollin’

      When I was about four years old, I came down with a nasty bout of pneumonia. I was hospitalized for a good while. I don’t know if I remember it all happening or if I’ve heard the stories so many times that I think I’m remembering. There is always an overlapping haze with moments like this. My mom has always said she’ll never forget my dad rushing into the house from work and leaping up the stairs to get me when they knew it was bad. I remember – or I was told – there was a giant tent over me in the hospital bed. However, there are three things…

  • I’m a mom. Not a shtick.

    *** Let’s talk truth in motherhood, shall we? As I sat drinking my coffee this morning and scrolled through the feed of pages I follow on Facebook, I noticed a theme. Endless pieces posted by “mom portals” with titles like Why I Will Never *blank* Again or Yes, I Resent My Husband For *blank*. And after reading each title, I would skim the comments and read the (inevitable) criticism of the writer’s point of view, etc. Harsh criticism. Like, people are effing mean. But that’s what happens when you read the comments section of anything really, right? Vultures hovering to point out why your opinion/suggestion/way is wrong/damaging/idiotic.  I don’t usually like…

  • The gift of time.

    *** I hate scary movies. HATE them. I have enough anxiety in my life without the unnecessary trauma of monsters/zombies/ghosts/demons jumping out of nowhere and trying to kill someone. For that very reason, I also hate Halloween haunted houses.  Once, when I was a kid, my friend Dani and I went to a nearby “haunted house” for Halloween. I was terrified, but she wanted to go through it so badly. We were with other friends of hers and I didn’t want to be the only wuss. So, we agreed to walk through it in a “train” formation. I kept my eyes closed the ENTIRE time and sang to myself as I held onto…