Life According to Me

There are two types of picture hanger people. The measurers and the eyeballers. Type A picture hanger has an arsenal of hanging equipment. Pencil Level Stud finder Tape measure Chalk string Hammer Nails Drill Screws Band-aids All tucked away in a fancy tool belt worn securely around their waist. They attack the project like a Neurosurgeon. Using their fine instruments to delicately and precisely hang...the picture...  perfectly. Dr. Marcos to the living room, STAT. Type B, picture hanger is me . No organized fanny pack of gadgets. No blue prints. No trips to The Home Depot. I attack the project like Macgyver. Eyeballs Chewing gum Nails A small sauté pan. Picture Perfect.

15 years ago, I met you. My Kid One. Inside, you wear a giant heart and a sweet soul. I am proud, beyond words, of the man you are becoming. You are tolerant, kind and fair. Even when it's not popular. You are true to yourself and your beliefs, while being thoughtful of others ideas and feelings. Your drive to be the best You , you can be, is inspirational. As a parent, I wanted to teach you right from wrong. Love you truly, deeply. Guide you. Give you the best life ever... What I didn't expect, that early morning I met you, was that you would do the same for me. 15 years. My Kid One. I ♥ you...

The last time I cleaned my house, it was June. I've been away for a while. Today was the first day of school. Everyone got scooted out the door in record time. Go Us! I stood in my empty, quiet house. and took it in. Not the empty silence....the DUST . Oh for the love of Pledge. The sunlight is peeking through the shutters, casting fancy little rays of pixie dust all around the room. I can see where the kids have "tagged" their names. Kid One Was Here. (smiley face) Wash me. Kid Two. Clever, aren't they? In my mind, I imagine myself in a Mary Poppins like state. Dusting. Moping. Twirling about... Decked out in my best apron. Talking to the birds. Instead, I put on Dr. Dre, and bust a move, starting with the couch. Did you know that a couch is the Bermuda Triangle of the furniture world? In there I found: The mail key. Cheetos. A pencil. Three pens. The remote. $2 in change. A glow stick. A poker chip. A bookmark. Awesome. Dre ...

I'm not a marketing wizard. I'm not the CEO of a retail giant. I'm not a number crunching Yoda. But... I am a human who lives in the northern hemisphere. I'm wired to the seasons and their commercialism. So I say, WTF is up with: Halloween in August. Christmas in October. Valentines in December. Swimsuits in February. Back to school in June. I'm aware this is some, over-my-head-big-money, practice.....but come ON. Who can even visualize themself in a bikini, in February, when we've been burried in sweaters since Thanksgiving Dinner? Ummm....can you say big white muffin top?! And June, for back to school?! We just started holiday. Are they trying to drive us to drink(more).;-) Kid two has to decide what he's going to be for Halloween in August. Have the retail people meet a human under the age of 10? They are a fickle bunch. The dilemma is that if you DON'T scoop up your mechanical pencils, Christmas lights, and swimsuits, yo...

Let me set the scene. It's 10pm. Laying outside staring up at the giant sky. Counting satellites. Brian Eno in the background. We are savoring the last days of our 6 week holiday on this gem of a lake, in the high Sierra's. My husband has traveled home and back, but a very good portion of our stay has been... Kid One. Kid Two. And Me. Starved for some adult conversation, I've found myself chatting up the check-out lady at the market. She politely asks how I am. I, pathetically, go into a monologue of my life. I cringe at my recolection...ugh. Back to the starry night. Kid One begins timidly, "Ummm...please don't take offense to what I'm going to say." Oy. "I can't wait to go back to school." I coax him on..."Oh yeah..." He goes on to say that while the company of myself and his little brother has "been great and all", he is starved for teenage conversation. He looked to me, cautiously, for my r...