Starting off the New Year with a long list of goals is a recipe for failure. Dry January? Who does such a thing? If one more person says, “I’m on a cleanse” I’m gonna cleanse all over their shoes. Just don’t. At least not in January. Why start life changing habits on one of the longest, coldest, darkest months of the year? 31 days of the gym? No thank you.
Oh, ’tis the season of senior year, when college acceptances come in the form of exciting emails with pomp and circumstance and virtual confetti, and big fat envelopes jammed into old school mailboxes. Proud parents post their boast about overachieving spawn’s ability to get into the college of their dreams and receive an umpteen million dollar scholarship. Parents often don’t mention they shelled out thousands (read THOUSANDS) of dollars to
Can you separate life into its appropriate sections and keep your emotion in each designated compartment, like an invisible fence with big dog wattage? Not sure who deems what appropriate, but let’s just say designating mundane stuff like work and family. Sex and politics. Money. Racism. Parenting. Real parenting, not the bragfest people put on Facebook. The life we’re not supposed to talk about cuz ne’er shall the paths cross,
Discovered my list of goals for 2017 and well, um, yeah. That. A year ago I got on my high horse and touted the benefits of writing things down to make them happen and had every intention of following through, and was even off to a good start with a CT Press Club Best Personal Blog in Connecticut prize and as a BlogHer Voice of the Year honoree. Plus, I basically flashed my boobs
Once upon a time on a soccer field far, far away, or really, just in the center of town on an abandoned psychiatric hospital, a tired, been-there-done-that mom sat behind the soccer goal, underneath the giant pines, with an iced tea and book, and didn’t watch her kid play. She may have glanced, but she certainly didn’t know the score, or where her kid was on the field. Or if
I got naked with my friend Nicole as a birthday gift from my rather attractive husband. It’s not what you think, but I am sure the husband wouldn’t mind that being so. My kids are ewwing loudly, and gagging, in my mind, while I’m typing this, before they ever lay eyes on it, and I make no apologies. Getting naked with Nicole I received a gift certificate for a massage
She had both her hands on my ass and was applying firm, steady pressure, and I ain’t gonna lie: I liked it. I was lost in the moment and it felt great. Until she opened her mouth. And sound came out. “Now look at Kate –“ she announced, with a mean teacher voice to the entire class of mostly women and the one or two hairy dudes with an aversion
(This essay originally appeared on Grown & Flown where it was awarded SheKnows Media BlogHer Voice of the Year 2017.) * * * Left behind, but I couldn’t look away. Her face was smooshed up against the scratched, opaque plastic, and seemed to be suffocating, for lack of air, lack of love, I don’t know, but I just left her there. If her mouth wasn’t sewn shut, if her little arms