He comes home for lunch at 11:05, shoulders stooped from the weight of Language Arts and Algebra I. Last night's pizza is pulled from the oven and set on the table.

“When are you going to buy milk?” he asks, instead of saying thank you.

This is how he lets me know he needs something. Not, we're out of milk or I drank the last of it this morning, but when. When will I replace the milk I didn't know was out, the shoes I didn't know were outgrown. When will he get his license, a car, a haircut.

One Hundred Word Wednesday: I'm Doing #NaBloPoMo!

This is the summer of writing. Iliana started full day pre-K today and Jonas will be at his dad's for six weeks, so theoretically I have all this time to get my write on. But I am definitely a creature of momentum and I haven't had much of that lately, so it'd be super easy for me to just turn this into the summer of not writing. Since I'm determined to not let that happen and I do better with small, attainable goals, we'll start the summer with a month of blogging. Every day.

Growing Pains

Today I'm writing a post I promised to Sarah Fader of Stigma Fighters*. The piece, about living with and being vocal about mental illness, is due tomorrow (ohai procrastination) and being part of Sigma Fighters is super important to me.

Also important is a piece I've been working on is a submission to the HerStories Project's upcoming publication Mothering Through the Darkness. I saw that the deadline was moved back a month to January 1st on the exact same day I was lamenting having missed it, and am trying to take that as motivation to, I dunno, not miss it again. The topic, mothering in the face of postpartum depression (and other struggles) seems right up my alley, right? Just like Stigma Fighters is right up my alley. Hello alley, here I am! I write for you now, you lucky bastard!

In reality, I am totally freaking out.

Ambition is Overrated

So there's a game we like to play with Iliana. We get a two dollar package of party balloons and blow them all up, then rub most of them against our shirts to build up a good charge of static electricity. Then we stick them to the ceiling and give her one balloon and orders to try and knock the rest of them down.

She loves that shit.

Fanfare! - or - Achievement Unlocked: #NaBloPoMo

I don't normally finish things. Not really, anyway. You can tell by the way I still haven't moved into my house six and a half years after, well. Moving in. The way I start and start and start different novels and stories and essays only to abandon them when another idea bubbles up. And, well, ideas are always bubbling, you know? That's what ideas just kind of do.


Last week I sat down to do tell you about my second week doing NaBloPoMo. Moments after the piece was published, my blog went offline.

"Is the internet down?" I asked. Ian went downstairs to check on geeky Ian things and trudged back up the stairs a few moments later.
"Well," he said. "We're under attack."

The More You Practice, The Better You'll Get

The sun is rising, casting a semi-orange glow deep behind my neighbors' houses. It chases away the dark blue of overnight and everything is getting brighter by the moment.

I shouldn't be awake right now, watching this. I should still be asleep, tucked in awkwardly beside my daughter. Listening to my husband snore. Snoring too, if we want to be honest here. But I woke up because of all that awkward tucking in, my shoulder and neck pinched and painful. A general sense of discomfort as my body did a few sore body things. After awhile my brain caught up to the fact that it wasn't sleeping anymore and it started yammering at me until I got out of bed.

One Week of #NaBloPoMo

In case you've been following me on a reader or subscribe to email updates* and have been all like AAACK WHAT IS ALL THIS NONSENSE as I kept popping up in your feed or whatever, let me sum up: Yep, I'm trying for NaBloPoMo. That goofy little acronym stands for National Blog Posting Month. In which, you know, we write in our blogs all month long.

I dunno, man. It all seems really weird to me too.

#MicroBlogMondays - Writing Is Terrible

I always think I'm going to say just this one thing and then all of a sudden I'm 1400 words deep into whatever it is and I just don't even know which of these points is the point that I really want to make. I write them all out anyway, just keep writing and writing until the essay nearly buckles under the bloat of itself.

This is what I'm doing today.


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