School has been back in session for a couple of weeks. I know 5 people with kids that have already gotten sick and, oh, what's that sound?
And hark, do I hear the dulcet tones of of my charming child... oh....
No.
That's not what I wanted to hear. That's a cough. And sniffling. And the voice of a sore throat having kid.
Where is my hazmat suit? I can't really get sick right now.
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Yesterday my mother showed up at my door with 13 handcrafted birthday invitations in one hand and 1.75 liters of vodka in the other. The two are mostly unrelated. The invites are made from paper and glitter. Stamp and ink. She didn't write in them, but provided
As I sit quietly in my living room working I tend to listen to the sounds of home. The slight buzz and hum of my heater, the birds chirping and chattering from my high windows, the rush of cars on the street outside, and the constant chirps, pings, and trills
I remember putting some crazy things in my hair as a kid. Lemon juice, kool-aid, mayonnaise, avocado, tea, and that scalding hot oil treatment. With that last one I might as well been torturing myself with tar and feathers. Then there was the one summer I strived to find the