I wanna say I am above this whole Royal wedding hoopla created in anticipation of the grand event tomorrow, April 29th.  I mean, the world has more consuming issues to attend to and in the microcosm of my day-to-day, I’ve certainly got bigger fish to fry.  I wanna join Ad Age and The New York Times in their scoffing at Papa John’s Pizza for actually making a pizza portrait of William and Kate.  I wanna.  I really wanna.  Heck, there are tornadoes destroying entire communities all over this country.

But I can’t help but be swept away in the Royal frill.  I gawk at the television snippets.  And speculate with the paparazzi when I break down and buy one of those cheesy magazines at the supermarket checkout.  And soak in the circus feel born with so much of this event  under …Read on

Dishonesty is an ugly beast.  Even more so when it rears its unsightly head between a man and his wife.   Like last night.  When I opened the garage fridge.  Sparks flew.  And not the kind that leave behind broken bedposts or sleepless neighbors (or both.)

“Did you…(pause, as a sense of betrayal/loss/shock glazes over me)…was it you who?” (Pause again, more betrayal/loss/shock.)

“It’s not what it looks like!” he shouted, a bit too automatically.

“I just went to the garage fridge to get some Parmesan cheese and I saw…”

“Look, it’s just once in a while.  It doesn’t mean much, um, anything.  Doesn’t mean anything at all, really.” His eyes look at me sharply, brow furrowed, muscles tense:  this is the look of a scared man.

“So the île flottante from last Wednesday…” I begin to ask in a loud voice, the shock quickly …Read on

My daughter balances me out. Oh don’t tell her I said so, and on my blog no less, but she does. Many times I forget this myself. I am too busy in mother mode, which, as any parent will contest, requires a tight leash at times. She can be a handful because she is so damn smart (and now you nod and you say, ‘here goes another mother about to bore me to death with her daughter’s attributes, if she could she’d pull out the video, no wait, she’s going to attach a YouTube link of The Daughter performing “You Light Up My Life” on the piano. Just wait. I know it is coming.) I mean, yes, she whips out a mean version of her own music on our dusty keyboard (inventing music is always more intriguing than …Read on

It was a self-imposed exile that kept us away from our technologically-appropriate glitzy LCD screen and comfortable couches in the living room.
We had shuffled ourselves into this tiny, forgotten playroom (created out of a sliver of the garage only to end up serving as a cemetery of misfit Barbie heads and long-forgotten Super Heroes) in order to allow our cleaning ladies, who where there for their allotted weekly clean, to go about the business of organizing our disastrous home.
Still, Barack Obama was minutes away from being inaugurated as the first African American president and we weren’t going to miss that moment over an issue of hygene.
We sat in that room side by side, transfixed by the teensy 17″ cube dinasour of a television won by our daughter at a local raffle years ago, and as the day’s events unfolded before …Read on