Something is Going Around

I hate to brag, but my child is a gifted actor. I am his most loyal fan, and a season ticket holder. It’s been almost a year since I’ve seen a performance of this caliber from my son, a high school junior. I’ll call him Stan, short for Stanislavsky—the creator of method acting in the theatre.


Stan had ventured in and out of the house all weekend. Our conversations both in person and via text messages during that time frame went something like this: 

Me: “Where are you?” 

Stan: “I’m hanging out with Kevin.” 

Me: “Curfew is in 10 minutes.” 

Stan: “I know MOM.” 

Me: “Whose car was that?” 

Stan: “Jake’s.” 

Me: “What have you guys been doing?” 

Stan: “Hanging out.” 

Friday, Saturday and Sunday night— the same conversation, interchanged with various random names. 


Sunday 8:pm. I am standing at my desk searching for a document I just had in my hand. Finding it I turn and jump back, startled… the phantom has materialized. 

Me: “I didn’t hear you come in. Did you close the door?”  (Why do I have to ask a 17 year old if he closed the door?) 

Stan: “I’ve been here for a while.” 

I mutter: “Nice try.” 

With surprisingly authentic shock, Stan asks: “Are you kidding me? You don’t believe me?” 

I decide to play along. “Yes, I believe you. I was joking. I didn’t know you were home.”

Stan: “I feel terrible.” Grasping his stomach he says: “My ear is killing me…it’s crackling and popping. Something is going around.”

Me: “Well go to bed. You’re not missing school. Would you like me to schedule an appointment with the doctor?”

Stan: “What time?” 

Me: “They have walk up appointments at 7am.”

Stan: “No, that’s way too early.” — his bus comes at 7:10, so he never wakes up before 7:05. 

Me: “Okay well you will not be missing school, so go to bed.

This has been the set up for the real performance which takes place the following morning. 


Stan: “I’m sick. Call me in.”

Me: “You are not sick and I’m not calling you in.

Stan: “I threw up.” 

Me: “Did you flush it, because if I don’t see it it didn’t happen.” (he has been known to stage faux puke, but only with prior warning)

Stan: “That’s disgusting, yes I flushed it. I’m calling dad- he’ll call me in. You don’t care about me.”

Me: “I care about your grades. Did you not do your homework, is that what this is about?”

Stan: “You are the worst mom, this is abuse. I’m going to school, but don’t be surprised if you get a call from the nurse. They don’t want sick kids in the building.”

Me: “I’ll keep my phone charged and close by, and I’ll make an appointment with the doctor for after school… it’s your ear, and you threw up. You need to get started on antibiotics right away—if what you have is what’s going around.”

Stan: “No, I’m not going to the doctor, forget it.”


Me: “How are you feeling?”

Stan: “I’m okay, why?”



<a href=””>Loyal</a&gt;

A Limerick for My Baby

Twenty one years ago today

On a hot humid summer’s day

Zoe landed on earth

(Yes—some call it birth)

‘Twas done in a quite painful way


*Fair Warning ⚠️ details of the story:

Are, well…indecorous and gory

From ruptured membranes 

(Some might complain)

No meds, IV or suppository 


“Stop screaming and try to focus!”

“Happy place! Use self hypnosis!”

I was a pirate “avast ye”

In pain “my dungbie!”

I had a baby— hmm almost didn’t notice


Although that last line isn’t true

Every cramp, stretch mark, saggy boob

I’d do it again

My daughter, my friend

Because my life, it began with you!


Happy Birthday little Zoe!


<a href=””>Relieved</a&gt;, 

U With the Uterus 

Hey! You with the uterus! 

Stop right there!

Drop that insurance card!

Hands in the air!

You suspected pregnancy 

And bought a urine test

Don’t try to pass it off as new— 

The condition pre-exists!

Mammograms and Pap smears

All your women’s needs

You expect them to be covered 

In your health plan? That’s just greed.

Rich old white male politicians 

Won’t vote to subsidize the cost

Of care to keep you healthy here

In America— democracy is lost

Though they all had mothers 

Who birthed them at one time

Do their moms see what happened 

To their Repugnant offspring? It’s a crime.

A tax cut has priority 

Over compassion and ethics

Viagra however— treats a condition 

Which never pre-exists

So, you with the uterus, 

Happy Mothers Day!

Of that uterus, what happens to it— 

By the way, you have no say

Though the senate won’t approve this bill, 

Their version keeps women under attack

Because it’s not orange, no it’s Women 

Women are the GOP’s new black

Reprehensible Ex-Representative Joe Walsh 

Today is a two post day because I feel the need to vent. A fellow blogger (loisajay1213) commented on a post I published two days ago, about pre-existing conditions. She asked if I had seen Jimmy Kimmel on the news last night. I had not, but I’ve mastered google, and easily found a monologue of his which was likely the subject of the news story. 

During that same google search I also found a fine example of the hypocrisy of the party of family values. 

Former representative, and current jackass, Joe Walsh (R-Ill.), a man who (illegally) doesn’t feel the need to pay his own child support—tweeted about Jimmy Kimmel’s monologue, writing: 

I predict Joe Walsh will someday be a lonely old man in a nursing home whom none of his children care to visit. 


<a href=””>None</a&gt;

Speaking of Cake

Speaking of cake, today is my birthday. Please don’t comment happy birthday, because I’ll ignore it. I hate everything about birthdays. I only mention mine to illustrate the fact that birthdays are just another day. If a person (I) expects people to bow at their (my) will, just this one day a year, they (I) will be sorely disappointed. 

I woke up to the sound of my 16 year old son’s manly voice: “Happy Birthday Mom, I’m sick.” 

Regardless of how that sentence started, my response was the same as it is every week when he tries this: 


He continued as always: “I was getting sick yesterday, if you didn’t notice, you’re not paying attention.”


I could go into more details, but I choose to save those for the Department of Children and Family Services. When they knock on my door to inquire as to why my son doesn’t show up for school once or twice a week, I’ll invite them in for a slice of birthday cake, and hope they can advise me on how to parent this 16 year old who towers over me, and respects me not, because I’m at a loss. 

Yay me! Another year older.


<a href=””>Timely</a&gt;

An Intoxicated Volcano Erupting with Shimmering Bliss that Smells Pretty Good

Every once in a while it’s nice to reflect on the good things. Today I will attempt to list 10 things in my life that are pleasant.

  1. My children are all healthy. That wasn’t the case 6 months ago, so I am…beyond any interjection your thesaurus has to offer…I am an intoxicated volcano erupting shimmering bliss that smells pretty good.
  2. My car runs.
  3. Aldi sells gummy bears.
  4. The hydrangea bush I thought I killed is showing signs of life.
  5. You can buy hair color for $7.95, and sometimes with a $2.00 coupon.
  6. I’m not as old as I’ll be next year.
  7. Thanks to Donald Trump cutting the environmental protection agency out of the budget, I’ll soon have waterfront property. (Sorry neighbors, this is about me.)
  8. It’s spring!
  9. My unibrow has been contained.

Is that really only 9? Ugh.
    10.  I’m done writing today’s post—that counts, my blog my rules.

I’m not a Pollyanna. I have to admit my life isn’t perfect, regardless of the impression my list has left you with. For example: today is ‘National Grilled Cheese Day, and I can not participate in the celebrations taking place across the country, due to lactose intolerance. Still, I choose to focus on my list…today.

Let’s see your list.


<a href=””>Pleased</a&gt;