My dream, our dream

In my dream, we’re old. Much older than we are right now. Your hair is much greyer, mine still the same. We both have more wrinkles and laugh lines and frown lines. The whites of our eyes have dulled, our bones and muscles ache.

The girls are grown and gone and living lives of their own. They have families, they have homes, they have careers. They are strong women and although we have no need to worry about them, we still do. Parents will always worry about their children. But they’re happy, that we don’t question. They’re happy because we raised them with unending, unconditional love. We taught them to be what they want, who they want. To love who they want. To respect and to accept nothing less than respect in return. To be kind and thoughtful and hardworking. We taught them to love, by loving them. They’re ok. We did right by them.

Where I go when I’m not here…

At MamaPop, I made you hungry by talking about movies with lots of delicious looking food in them.

I told you about three, THREE, remakes/reworkings of Snow White.

And, as usual, I recapped Jersey Shore. Don’t judge me as a person just because I love to hate that show. We all have our vices, right?


At MoxieBird, I looked at a couple of less-than-surprising pieces of research. The first was that 50% of men would forgive an unfaithful female partner if they cheated on them with another woman.

Rhoda – She will be mine

Do you know what a person shouldn’t do while they’re trying to lose those couple or ten pounds gained over the holidays? Now just you shut up about how it’s February and that’s a full month since the holidays and a full month is plenty of time two lose a couple or ten pounds. You shut up about that and I’ll shut up about how maybe only 5 of the pounds were from the holidays and the other 5 came after. We’ll both shut up and there will be no need for fisticuffs, m’kay? M’KAY.

What was I doing? Oh, right. The exact opposite thing I should have been doing, which is Googling “ugly bread”. Because when you Google “ugly bread”, you do not get pictures of ugly looking bread. Google failed me there. Instead, you get pictures of delicious looking bread that I want to put in my face. Bread filled with chocolate chips and smothered in icing and dusted with powdered sugar and smeared with cinnamon and oh my. There’s nothing ugly about any of that.

Perfect Sleeper

It’s raining outside. The kind of rain that nearly penetrates your skin. It’s coming down in sheets. Violent, battering, angry sheets. Everything is so saturated in dampness, I can feel it in my bones. Inside the car, the air is moist and cool. It feels the same on the inside as it does on the outside, but much less violent.

She’s in here with me. It’s just her and I. Her head bounces around in slow motion, like a balloon on a string whose helium has begun to leak. It’s finding a position to settle on; one that takes the least effort to maintain. Her head comes to rest in a way that will leave her with a crick when she wakes up. But for now, it is perfect.

Her lips move. *Smlack Smlack* She’s probably thirsty – her body knows this, but she’s too tired to be bothered. Her eyes flutter, daring to wake. Hair curtains one side of her face.

Greeting cards are my nemesis

My father does not want a 300 word essay written with $5 schmoopy words on love and appreciation in a card covered with flowers and silhouettes of seagulls and ribbons and pearls. That is a recycled Mother’s Day card. Nice try.

My father does not want an LOLCat with 3D googly eyes. In fact, no one over the age of 3 wants an LOLCat with 3D googly eyes on their card.

My father does not want an oversized certificate proclaiming him to be The World’s Greatest Father. Where would he put it? Not at his office; that’s bragging.

My father does not want a card that yells “GIT ‘ER DONE!” at his face in a loop. I can do that myself.