Drownding isn’t a word. But I’m doing it anyway.

It’s back to my woo-woo Lisa the Good Witch therapist, and her hourly rate; which is so high it seems like only the most sad and baffled aging Hollywood wives would be asked to pay it. And me. Because goddammit, she’s a soul-fixer genius. I don’t care if she DOES believe the midichlorians that incandescence her blood…

Spit to Dunk Your Butts In.

LE is shuffling out of the pink froth of little-girlhood into the kaleidoscopic colors of kid-hood. So she doesn’t dress-up anymore, in flouncy pink skirts with clashing wrinkled leggings and a broken Barbie tiara.  But she got a toy microphone for Christmas. Along with a Belinda Carlisle CD and…a Lady Gaga CD. I put them…

You know the rules

Jane-Anne knocked on my door on the morning of the 24th. I open my window and looked at her, confused. “You know the rules!” I say to her and her husband. The two of them are huddled on my front walk, taking their sweet, lovable dogs for a walk as they do every day, rain…

Clinging to a Styrofoam cooler

Yesterday, as I hid in flannel sheets to find a nap I didn’t really need, I realized why I think of myself as such a mediocre mom. It’s because I thought there would be a lake. All I’ve ever had is a river. My life has been a river. No, let’s have the proper visual.…

transplanted monkey liver

  I am a Girl Scout co-leader this year. I didn’t want to be. I’m brutally lazy. I like to lay down at meetings. My body rejects order and organization like a transplanted monkey liver. But there was what Gus calls, “a power vacuum,” and I was the only one to fill it. Then he…