UPDATED: The wench is missing.

Cai told me last night that Daddy’s wench is missing.

“Mommy?” Cai said. “Mah-mee. MommyMomMomMommyMom!”

“Yes, Cai?” I replied absentmindedly, eyes affixed to the seventeenth Stephanie Plum novel and rather not paying the kind of attention I should’ve been paying to my preschooler.

“Daddy lost his wench.” ...  read more

Where there’s smoke…

“What are you DOING?” I screeched at her. “Do you not see the SMOKE?”

My first clue that I’d lost control of the situation was my teenager sitting on the couch, blithely chatting on Facebook while the room filled with billowing smoke.

“Well, yeah,” she replied. “I see it. But you’re fixing it, right? I mean, I can’t fix it.” ...  read more

You say tomato. I say that tomato is ruining my reputation.

I don’t want to be dramatic or anything, but I found something in my kitchen window today that was terrifying.

I’m not talking about the four hollow dead fly husks that crunched as I gathered them into my thin, waxy paper napkin.

Or the dust that’s no longer dusty and, instead, is devolving with residual kitchen grease into some sort of sticky glue-like substance that’s likely to self-animate and smother us all in our sleep. ...  read more

Shooting Ducks

You know how life is like shooting fish in a barrel? Like, it’s so easy you feel downright guilty?

Yeah. Me, neither.

Life is more like shooting ducks.

Really, really fast ducks with short attention spans, a penchant to dart rapidly in random directions, and bullet repellent.

And then, when you shoot ’em dead and think you’re done knocking ’em down so you can get on to the more important parts of life, the ducks rise again like Lazarus. ...  read more

The Zippered Pocket

I had the shakes. I was jittery. I kept biting the skin around my nails.  And it wasn’t just because of the excessive coffee I drank.

Although walking in sunshine and over-eating fresh pasta and flaky, buttery pastries are excellent, highly recommended coping mechanisms (which I assure you I employed to the very best of my ability), I still managed to pathologically miss my children on vacation last week. ...  read more

More Soon

I took a big ol’ break from writing while on vacation last week. There were days and days of not writing; like, four of them in a row.

I thought not writing for a little bit was a good idea.

I thought I’d use my time to go for a walk or fourteen in the sun. To spend dedicated time with Greg. To eat pizza from a brick oven and fresh pasta with pesto sauce. ...  read more

The Measure of My Success

I started vacation with a partially empty emotional bucket, rather eager to refill it. And now that I’m on vacation, I’m splashing relaxation frantically towards the bucket, hoping some of it will land inside and I’ll be magically refilled. I like to be realistic; it’s one of my best things.

But vacation is like sleep. Incredibly awesome. In shorter supply than I would like. And very challenging to do successfully with a limited amount of time. ...  read more