As I walked into the laundry room, my heart stopped beating. There, in the middle of my new tile floor stood my one-year-old daughter Lauren tap dancing in a puddle of permanent blue paint, smiling brightly. Instantly, my eyes began to sting with the tears that would soon come. We’d saved five years for that simple remodel, and now it was ruined. Oh, the joys of being a parent.
Over the past forty-two years, the one thing I’ve gotten good at is crying, and it […]
Photo by Sarah McCutcheon on Upsplash
“Crap, how do I pay all these bills this month,” I cried out loud, looking at the dwindling balance scrawled in my checkbook. A recent real estate deal I was working on wouldn’t close for another month, and my stocks had taken a horrific hit because of the mess our country—our world—was going through. Since I became a single mom twenty-one years ago, money (or the lack of it) has been the bane of my existence and the source […]
Author and her only son
Over my sixty-nine years, I’ve done many things for which I needed to apologize. I’ve lied, cheated, talked about others behind their backs; I even stole candy from the local deli as a child. And each time I was caught, I had to put on my big girl panties and own up to the misbehavior. But there’s one thing I refuse to ever apologize for, and I mean ever.
About a month ago, I was with my third daughter, Lauren, for […]
Photo by Edu Carvalho from Pexels
After dawning my super-powerful, diamond-crusted Grammie cape, I checked my eye makeup one more time before adjusting my mask and spraying one final mist of liquid glue to my curls. Despite the fact my first grandson, Bo, had a new name for me (Old Grandma) I was determined to not then, not ever, show my age. So out the door I ran to monitor the afternoon play on the cul-de-sac.
Life in a neighborhood filled with small children is busy. There are balls […]
Author’s third grandson, Kai, meeting Santa for the first time
It was early December 1958 when my life fell apart. Mom had the house beautifully decorated for Christmas, and I’d just written my letter to Santa when a nasty friend of my older brother felt this was the time to tell me the truth—that Christmas was a lie and there was no Santa. Running to my mother, I sobbed in her arms. Then, through my tears, I begged for her to tell me the truth.
“Do […]
Quote by Oscar Wilde on Monday’s Flower
On a cold, dreary December day nineteen years ago, I had coffee with a dear friend at the local Starbucks. Letting out a long and disillusioned sigh, I began to cry the blues regarding my upcoming 50th birthday. Menopause had crept in years earlier, and I felt my youth slithering away with the onset of this momentous age.
At that point, in my mind, I was still 35, but the mirror screamed something different, making it harder and harder to […]
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