I don’t wanna

Reasons why I don’t want to do my slice tonight:

  1.  My throat hurts
  2. Too much traffic
  3. It’s cold (60 degrees is cold, right?)
  4. I didn’t eat dinner until 8:30 PM.  (And it wasn’t even very good)
  5. Two minutes ago I had a cute little chub-a-dub-dub baby and somehow tonight I found myself registering him for high school…

Cooking with Kids

“Mommy, can I help you cook dinner?” My heart simultaneously soared and dropped (so I guess it pretty much stayed in the same place…).

Anyone who has kids or loves kids (or- I guess I should clarify-has them and loves them) knows that cooking with children is a lovely bonding experience.  Kids learn language, measurement, cooking skills, and it’s a nice time to hang out and chat.

Anyone who has ever cooked with kids also knows that it is not exactly the fastest, cleanest, or most sanitary way to make a rushed weeknight meal after work.  (It also means that I can’t watch Homeland out of the corner of my eye while I cook….)

But of course I said yes and we began to bustle around the kitchen, Lucy humming to herself as she worked.  My daughter is 8, and we have done this together many times.  I suddenly noticed how independent she has become.  She got the stepladder, cut the stems off the beans (“I like cooking with you better because daddy doesn’t let me use the big knife”), only dropped three beans on the floor, curled her fingers away from the knife blade without needing a reminder, carefully tossed the beans into the pan, added a pinch of salt, and helped carry the steaks out to the BBQ.

She then skipped off so she could play for a bit before dinner, leaving me to finish, watching Homeland again out of the corner of my eye, missing my little helper.


  1. I will always, always, always carry 100 things too many rather than take a second trip.
  2. I wake up to NPR because alarms that buzz, beep, and scream ruin my day before I am even awake.
  3. I am physically incapable of doing only one thing at a time.  (Right now I am watching Homeland, typing this, and drinking coffee).
  4. I can’t relax when closet doors are open.  They are a reminder that something needs to be done.
  5. Digging and planting center me.  (Yes, the literal ground literally grounds me)
  6. Turning nouns into verbs when there is a perfectly good verb available feels like fingernails on a chalkboard to me (I die a little inside every time I hear the words conferencing and inferencing).
  7. I am sympathetic to people who get annoyed when people use ‘literally’ incorrectly, (although it doesn’t bother me in the slightest).  And I am also totally aware that I just did it.  Additionally, I realize that this is pretty hypocritical in light of the whole ‘conferencing/inferencing’ thing.  But I had to.
  8. I really want to correct people when they are wrong.  Even if I don’t know them.  Or they are not talking to me.  Or if it doesn’t matter in the slightest. “Was it Monday or was it Tuesday?  I think it was Monday…..”  “NO!!!”  I swoop in to save the day.  “It was Wednesday.”   I have enough self control that I do more of these corrections inside of my head instead of out loud, but some would say not enough of them…
  9. Book stores make me soooooo happy.
  10. I love smoothies in the morning because chewing is too much work before 6:00 AM.





Gas Pumps Hate Me (and the feeling is mutual) 

Gas pumps are made for tall people. Or perhaps just for people who are taller than I am. Which I guess makes sense because most people my height are about eleven years old. 

Gas pumps are also specifically designed to capture any kind of glare from sunlight, strong lamps, or a stray moonbeam, thus making it impossible for you to read the many many questions gas pumps like to type at you one letter at a time. 

Gas pumps also are a top attraction for taggers. Apparently scratching initials into a tiny glass window that ensures everyone types in their PIN code at the wrong time is empowering. 

Gas pumps hoses are never quite long enough to reach to the opposite side of your car. This seems like a fixable problem. This may be a revolutionary thought that only a left hander living in a right handed world like me could ever think of.  But it seems like it would prevent so many gas station related issues. 

As well as prevent a few of my crazy rants.