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Not just a mouse. A dead mouse. Not really freshly dead, but not exactly shriveled up and odor-free, either. And not just an almost fresh dead mouse, but a dead mouse who may have ingested rat poison that the landlord used in our newly rented home while the house was between tenants. And there’s more. Because Rory-the-mouse-eating-dog is not just a dog. She’s a service dog-in-training. A 6-month old puppy who just passed round 1 of her service dog tests. This is one brilliant dog. (Mouse consumption notwithstanding.) However, she has become the gold-plated dog. The dog who costs just…
  For many around the world - but certainly not all – the month of December has turned into this chaotic time warp. And time, as we once knew it, has turned into “Apple time” – you know when the time for installation and upgrades alternates (versus counts down) from 75 seconds to 43 days to 27 minutes and so on and then . . . TA DA! Done! What the hell? Who counts like that? And how did the holiday time become some sort of “iTime”? The rush into the holiday season has turned into a crush of the…
The original start of this post: Not only have we relaunched our website (Again? Yes!! AGAIN!) but we are also in the news and on the road at showsand festivals and conferences and giving talks and being featured in blogs and online holiday gift guides and . . . and . . . and . . .  But it just got better.   Today, Monday, December 19, we were featured on the front page of the business section of the Philadelphia Inquirer. (also here at philly.com) How's that for exciting news? Go there – but come back here because there's…
Politics suck. That may be the only political fact we can depend on. (Check that out with Politifact.) Conversationally speaking, of course, politics are great. Usually. But the general rule is: Don’t engage. Stay clear of political chatter if it appears at the family reunion or holiday dinner with relatives who clearly were born on the other branches of the same (?) family tree. It's not worth pruning your tree over politics. Honestly. There’s a lot more to life. A lot. Take a few more breaths. Attempt a polite change of the impolite political topic. Then focus on quietly counting how…
Where is death one year later? The truth is I don’t know. My nephew died. It’s been a year. Emotionally, it was yesterday. I screamed so loudly and fell to my knees when his brother called that day and said ... I actually cannot recall exactly what he said. Odd how you think you'll never forget. But I simply couldn’t comprehend the words coming through the phone. Nothing made sense. My body knew what my mind refused to know. The impossible. At an impossible age. For impossible reasons. Danny had died of a seizure. How insane was that? Enough that…
When we send our kids to college, we pack everything they own, then immediately unpack ½ of it, and repack some critical college must-haves (including the damnable x-long twin sheets for beds that only college dorm rooms have). AND then we attempt to squeeze in all the advice that we can force them to listen to, plus toss in a few handwritten notes (to reinforce anything they couldn’t hear because they were distracted by the necessity to roll their eyes and tap a foot impatiently). All those notes get tucked into the odd places to be found while they are…
It’s that time of year. We are in urgent need of PACCAPs (Public Announcements from College Children for Addlebrained Parents). We can save the breath of anxious college-bound children and the going-deaf ears of their anxious parents. Hundreds of thousands of parents will no longer feel the compulsion to shoot the human messenger (aka: their children). Let’s just save on anxiety levels (on both sides), overuse of sighs, whiny toddlerlike tones, and unspoken “duhs”. Believe me – I’ve paid my “duhs”. This system delivers the same, reliable message at regular intervals – automatically. Painlessly. Aloud. Over secret wireless technology that…
If you've read my posts, you know that I don’t believe in New Year's Resolutions. I prefer to make my resolutions every night. I resolve to be a little bit better tomorrow at some parenting “thing” (where “thing” is redefined daily). So here we are. Summer. And you have to know this: I approach every summer swearing. Not in a bad way. But, swearing just the same. I swear that I will make this particular summer the best one yet. I swear that I will spend more time with my daughters, because we all have more time – or, at…
Last night, my older daughter and I had a moment. And lost a moment. Researching from different computers, each in our own bedroom and without having discussed it first, we both suddenly realized that we had missed our annual mother-daughter Dar concert. (That’s Dar Williams. If you don’t know her, you should.) And there would be no Tom Chapin concert this summer either. No Dar. No Tom Chapin. Let me tell you right here, right now: the grief in the unintentional breaking of this tradition was intense. It was as if our memories would now be taken from us as…
Within 24 hours of posting Being a Teen is Not a Diagnosis just days ago, I was in the ER with my younger teen daughter. I kid you not. Let me get to the ending first: She’s fine. She will be fine. That being said, everything I wrote about in my way-too-recent post was put to the test. That post emphasized: Trust your mothering (parenting) instincts. The doctor who sent us suddenly from my daughter’s regular appointment directly to the ER (on a nonstop route from the medical office wing to the ER entrance of the same facility) said those…
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