My place to think out loud or share the ridiculous
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A few days ago, my son asked me if AIS was a swear word. Feeling I was in the moment of teaching and openness, I said, "No, son. A-S-S is a swear word." Guess what my son wrote in big caps with giant chalk and lots of glee? Drrrrr.
I always have crazy dreams when I am pregnant. Usually, they are paranoid twists of my normal reality. Sometimes they are a venture in paranoia. I had a dream that I had hairy man nipples . What, for the love, is Freud trying to tell me?
Last year, as 39 crept into the door, I purchased an internet deal on facials. No big deal. I was feeling the quiet tickle of old-age on my face. Chemical peels seemed to be the answer. One year later and I had finally got around to redeeming the specials. I hate wasting money more than age spots. Having done this before, I was looking forward to a dark room and pleasant smelling stuff on my face. At the time, it did not concern me that I had a different esthetician. Sure, it burned a little more. It was probably working. During the weekend my face went from red like a sunburn to "who drug your face behind a skateboard?" I hunkered at home like a pimply thirteen-year-old. That Sunday, I was in charge of getting the children to sing loudly for Father's Day. No sweat, they always sing so cheerfully for me. In addition, I knew my local gathering of church goers was going to realize I was pregnant. (Yeah, did I mention I was pregnant?) This perfect storm of s
I'm almost took that last post down. It sounds so mean-spirited. What kind of person says those things? Well, besides me and teenagers? I started this blog as an attempt to present another side to myself and maybe my kids. It also feels fun to play with font/colors, say immediate things and add silly pictures. Every time I read my journal, I think no one would believe that is me. It is so pondering, meditative and serious. Heavens, they might think I was some type of serious-spiritual pioneer. Which of course, I am not. It clearly didn't show all of me. But, I also promised myself I wouldn't run from the ugly parts. It just makes me feel kind of lame when I read other mother-type blogs. They seem to rejoice in the journey, hug and kiss their young ones, have homes knit with love and beauty, present beautiful photos of an idyllic world....and so on. Me? I am holding true to my promise that this venue will not run away from the bitter, sarcastic, immature,
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