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Author: Amy Sommer

Crazy?!

Crazy?!

I am losing my mind. Am I’m losing it to my Parkinson’s Disease?  To age? To maladies yet to be diagnosed? I stare into space, trying desperately to remember what was right there, right there, on the tip of my tongue just moments ago. Then it hits me: I have children. It’s not the Parkinson’s Disease.  Nor age, nor my blessedly over-committed life. No, it’s those plotting little hellions, the Teen and Tween, who separately and together are intent on exacting my mother’s revenge. It’s my hell spawn who are driving me bonkers. Their ability to jump up and down on my very last nerve is masterful. If only they would channel this genius to their studies, they’d be the… READ MORE

Narcissist-in-Chief

Narcissist-in-Chief

Yet another thing I hold against Donald Trump: he has raised the level of how people view narcissism to such a degree that it’s hard to recognize, let alone acknowledge, a garden variety narcissistic personality-disordered human. “Sloane is such a self-involved, narcissistic bitch,” I complain to Eleanor about a mutual, childhood friend.  “Really? Narcissistic?”
 “Textbook.” “At least she doesn’t claim ‘her memory is great, maybe the best ever,’” Eleanor replies. “Like you know who.”  “But she does look in the mirror constantly and relate every story I tell back to her.” “I hadn’t noticed.” “You only talk to her on the phone.” “True.” “Do you actually believe that her daughter is both the head cheerleader and valedictorian of her high… READ MORE

Sorry… ish…

Sorry… ish…

I’m sorry I’ve aged. That gravity has taken its toll on my tits. That my metabolism has slowed and my discipline waned. I’m sorry that my brow furrows more and that my laugh lines appear regardless of my humor. I’m sorry that my standards grow higher as my ass lowers. I’m sorry that you think I should actually apologize for the aforementioned. In truth, I’m not sorry. Sure, there are days when, at a stoplight it’s a tough call; do I yank out an errant grey hair from my scalp or a witchy stray from my chin. Naturally, I wish that workouts were as effective and easy-to-recover from as they a decade ago …. I’d love to have gained the… READ MORE

Happy/Scared

Happy/Scared

I am happy because my home is solid and my kids… well, they’re here and kinda solid too. I am happy to have learned from my many mistakes and hope that this hard-earned knowledge will spare others pain. I am happy that I have Parkinson’s Disease instead of Multiple Sclerosis which I admit seems like a backhanded version of happy. But of late, I’m more fearful than happy. I read the news and fear that our lesser selves will prevail. That the world will divide again and again into ‘us’ and ‘them’ and repeat the genocidal madness that such thinking devolves into. I fear that I will never figure out how to follow my daughter on Snap Chat and that… READ MORE

It Takes a Coven

It Takes a Coven

It’s said that doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results is a definition of insanity. But it’s also widely acknowledged that, because randomness makes children feel unsafe, routine is essential to the task of parenting. And, naturally, it’s not a routine unless it’s repeated. Regularly. I routinely ask – nay, beg – my children to clean up after themselves, wear sunblock, brush their teeth, hair, sometimes the dog. I regularly remind them, ever so gently of course, to complete, double check, maybe even attempt the extra credit work on their assignments. I ask them to organize their rooms, their homework sometimes even their thoughts. And each time, I hope against hope that one or both… READ MORE

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