Perhaps he speaks first.
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From the category archives:
Playdates. (Relationships)
I have learned not to look at the article when I come and go, fetching my corset and petticoat and Victorian trekking costume. Just a piece of paper on the wall, I tell myself. It belongs to the theatre now, not to me.
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try as i might i cannot
connect there to here.
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Bonne chance, is what comes more
easily to mind. Good luck. This is
more useful on what would have
been eleven. Onze. Onzième.
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I. I will simply say it: I despise the ice cream that you bought for us. Guar gum, high fructose corn syrup, a plethora of chemicals, sweet and sticky. We may be sticky, when in the same place, but we are not that sweet. Don’t even get me started on the “light” caloric content. The [...]
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On vacation, I catch disappointment on one’s face, melancholy on the other’s. Just Mom, this time. I can’t be the two particular people that they so desperately want to be waving to them on the bumper cars. One at a time, they seem to be figuring out. It will always be one or the other parent, never both, not really.
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I try to console myself with the fact that I don’t need to change my name back to Mattern. And if I have any single friends left who like me enough to ask me to be their Maid of Honor someday soon, I can be a Maid of Honor again, instead of a Matron of Honor.
But I will still want to cover my upper arms with an unfortunate wrap. That’s just 40 for you.
Even Julia had some upper-arm jiggle going on.
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There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.
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There is not much to say at this point, except that I ate ROY G. BIV for dinner. Red onions, orangey-gold banana peppers, spinach, romaine, iceberg, Hattie’s blue dress, a purple poster over our low table. There were meats, too, cold cuts, animals that died to be pickled, salted beyond their comprehension or mine. The [...]
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Oh, crap.
Soph’s bleeding but happy. She’s managed to wiggle another tooth loose.
This is one of those times when it would really be nice to have a partner in Tooth Fairy crime.
I contemplated what to do. Was this a sign? Is it time to tell her?
I go to her room after mulling this over a bit.
She sits at her desk, composing a letter to the Tooth Fairy (including a line for the Tooth Fairy’s signature). Plans for an honest, if painful, discussion go out the window as I watch my firstborn happily crafting a little plastic showcase for her tooth from an empty earring box.
I exit her room, leave her to her cheerful work.
I attempt nonchalance in my room as I quietly dig through four old purses. Thirty-seven cents. This does not bode well for the Tooth Fairy, as the Tooth Fairy has been inconsistent at best with her sums, and the last tooth was worth an even $5.
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