Untethered Typings

I had a dream last night which, upon reflection over the course of the day, has surprised me. First off, one of my daughters was in it. So my first surprise was realizing that I don’t usually dream about my kids. Can’t say why that is. I don’t pretend to have the first clue what the whole deal with dreams is and I don’t believe anyone in all of academia knows either, so I'm not going to worry about it too much or try to speculate on the meaning behind my wee beasties’ absence from my dreams. I don’t remember the whole dream but I do remember the last bit. It was the kind of dream that would normally have had me waking feeling exhausted, eyes watery from the tears I felt I should have been crying in this kind of dream, sad and slightly shaken by the experience - even if it wasn’t real. Picture this. I’m trying to get to where my daughter is so I can say goodbye to her. I don’t know where she is going - some sort of camp maybe - but she is going for a while. Not sure why a thr...

Yes, I’m still alive and kicking, though you wouldn’t know by my recent (lack of) blogular activity. I’ve been working on other writing stuff - don’t you worry - and in the space-time continuum I inhabit there is only so much “extra” time, so the blog gets pushed aside. Anyway, on to today’s topic. As most of you know - due to incessant prodding by sellers of gardening wares, clothing, cookware, housewares and spa-type stuff - it’s time to celebrate your momma this Sunday. This is my third Mother’s Day being a mom myself. Now that I’ve been at this gig for three years, I feel like I can reflect a bit on it all so far. You all know I think it’s hard work. That being a mom is one of the tallest orders I’ve had to fill in my life. I know every mom feels this way at times, but I truly believe that I feel it more often than others: I do my best, but I’m just not hitting the mark as much as I should - as in, always. A lot of times I look to other moms I know with kids around the same ag...

I'm standing at the top of the stairs leading to my basement and I'm busy. I'm holding my three month old. I'm holding a glass of wine. I'm preparing to descend. I'm yelling - maybe screaming actually. Nothing intelligible, just making noise. I know this is not the right thing to do as a parent - the screaming. I know this does nothing to alleviate the inherent negativity of the situation, but I do it anyway. I'm watching my two and a half year old roll, or maybe bounce, down the wooden stairs about to reach the ceramic tile landing (this started at the second stair from the top). I'm wondering how she will land. I'm hoping she will not land on her head or with a limb in a position that will bring her severe pain and make me want to vomit. I suppose that could sound like a dream. A terrible dream where you're inexplicably helpless. Except that it's not a dream. It's what happened at my house tonight. I couldn't just drop my...

Recently there was a birthday party for a friend of mine. In discussing the upcoming party, another friend remarked, "I think it's going to be a pretty big party. Like, there's even going to be some adults there." Laughter from me, for two reasons. First of all, the party was to celebrate a 30th birthday. Not a third or thirteenth or even a 23rd birthday. If there weren't going to be adults at the party, I would have started to worry. Second, the guy who made the statement is almost 30 (it's true, don't deny it my dear). He is recently married. He has a mortgage. He has owned his own business for years. He is incredibly successful and one of the hardest working people I know. And yet, clearly, he does not consider himself an adult. Maybe if you sat down and had a chat about it he would, at the end, admit he is adultish. But it seems, in general, that he doesn't consider himself to be a fully realized adult. It's not that I think my fr...