Barb and Mr. Barb (in two years, I’ve never heard his name) have been good neighbors. They made peace with our dogs and children and the constant brutal cacophony of “memories being made” and “vengeance being wrought on the weak” that comes constantly from our side of the fence. Mr. Barb doesn’t talk except the…
This isn’t a New Year’s Resolution. This is what is whispered alone, only to yourself, when you’ve washed up on a strange but solid shore, chest heaving, frightened, shocked, but still alive. You’re alive. You’re going to need to fight to stay that way. Not vague, namby pamby promises. No. You are precisely aware of…
Crystal died so fast.
She never knew what to make of me. Our daughters had been best frenemies since age six, their squealing little naked bodies careening through our small house, slipping on laminate, streaking from their daring “night swim” in our inflatable Intex Quik-Set into a hot shower.
You did it again, I told myself. Spread open your arms, pointed at your vital places and said, “aim for here…it will hurt best here.”
My son’s not on your spectrum, your stupid rainbow of pain and awkwardness.
We can’t all be good mothers. It just doesn’t add up.
Note the Picasso-esque shaping of the elephant’s buttocks…..
I put him to bed tonight. I tried to tickle, hug, sing, play. Slow, gentle; I know not to smother or overwhelm him. Interspersed between each new attempt was the constant refrain, near tears, “Get out! Get Out! Get Out!” pointing at the door.
I’ve turned in nine chapters of my book in under three months, maybe about four more to go. The book is funny. I am funny. Underwear and toilets are funny. It all comes together. I have friends who are disppointed in how I’ve chosen to use my way with words. People who think humor…
I was right. It took about a week for the baffle-coma to wear off. Or maybe it was two weeks. I don’t know actually – time doesn’t penetrate a coma state. I counted time in congratulations and people’s praise of me. And in the rare backhanded, seething compliment. But since I’ve stopped desiring to tell…
You're Doing It Wrong 