Last night at 8:17pm, my son hollared “DAMN IT” and slammed his door.
Right before that we replied, “Oh, no! So sorry! No. We forgot.”
And right before that he asked if we remembered the Thing He Wanted to Do which was at 7:30pm.
And right before that he said, “SHIT. I forgot the Thing I Wanted to Do at 7:30pm and now it’s 8:17 and I’m TOO LATE.” ...
Dear Diary,
Does it mean something nefarious if you end 2020 by waking up to a dead bird in your bed?
Like, if the morning gifts you a deceased flying creature, is that a portent of things to come? Is it a severed horse head, a la The Godfather? A harbinger of dread?
Or is simply an acknowledgement, like the universe is saying, “Yep. 2020 WAS SOMETHING, amirite? HERE’S A DEAD BIRD TO COMMEMORATE IT. YOU’RE WELCOME.” ...
Last night was Halloween, and it was weird for us. For the first time in 22 years, we took no children trick-or-treating. The combination of COVID days and mental health and older kids who don’t feel the need to trick-or-treat made it an easy decision. A non-decision, really. We discussed it for less than a minute, and then we moved on.
Now, listen. If you have younger kids—or really kids of ANY age—who DID care about trick-or-treating and you were out and about walking the streets, you’ll get no judgement from me. I saw all the masks and candy chutes and drive-by trick-or-treating. All y’all were creative in finding safe ways to celebrate, and I’m here for it. Good for you! ...
This is Abby (the human) and Lulu (the dog).
That pic is from 3 months ago, which means Lulu is now 45x bigger.
He is not a labradoodle, after all.
He is either a small, black bear, or a moose, or a husky, feral, adorable kindergarten boy named something that ends with -y. Like Kenny. Or Jeffy. Or Tommy.
You know the one. He’s the kid who has NO IDEA how long his limbs are. He’s Bambi on the ice, made from 73% sweetness and 27% flailing. He takes corners too fast and runs into walls. He eats with pure joy and creates a colossal mess. Never did he ever finish a meal without spaghetti sauce or jelly to his eyebrows and wiping his face on his shirt. ...
Dear Diary,
Welp, we knew it was coming… or not coming as the case may be… but Abby and Chandler’s wedding wasn’t last weekend.
Like brides and grooms everywhere, these are Strange Times.
I called Saturday the Nonwedding day.
And you know what, Diary? They were happy anyway.
They dressed up in their wedding gear.
We grabbed our fab photographer friend. ...
Dear Diary,
Today was our annual meeting in cooperation with Ian, his social worker, and his care provider to write and edit his Individual Support Plan (ISP) and update the detailed report of his needs, interests, and preferences, as well as what services he requires as an adult who experiences intellectual and developmental disability. It comprises an enormous battery of information, including his areas of strength and vulnerability in medical, financial, behavioral, social, emotional, and vocational arenas. Everything from yes, he balances well and can walk up and down stairs unassisted to no, he still doesn’t like pasta. Also, he wants to own a macaw someday. But, really, who doesn’t? ...
Dear Diary,
Today I made yogurt, a loaf of sourdough bread, crumpets, popovers, swirled cheese buns, and rhubarb jelly which is a LOT OF THINGS. And now I’m Very Tired, and I’m going to go sit in the bathtub with M&Ms if there are any left over after I accidentally showed them to the rest of my family, and I’m going to read my book. ...
