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Category: Tween Troubles

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Pandemic Fatigue

Pandemic Fatigue

I am not a demonstrative person by nature. And yet… I want to French Kiss strangers, lick handrails and discard my mask. I am done with hand sanitizer, socially distant outside dining and doing my own nails. I hate COVID-19. I weep in frustration about this pandemic-imposed reality. I weep when this killer plague’s statistics are made real by the news stories about those whose lives this scourge cut short. I scream in impotent rage. But I put on my mask before I exit the car. Deal with the fog on my spectacles.` Sanitize my hands, the steering wheel – everything I touch. I will not be the conduit for this cootie. I will not take up an ICU bed.… READ MORE

Quarantine Family Court

Quarantine Family Court

“Dad, I said I was ‘sorry.’ Can you please just spank me now?” pleads my daughter with the overwrought exasperation that only a quarantined 16-year-old can muster. Family Court is in session – and will be 24/7 for at least the next month or two. Or more likely three. At least. We’re here all day together. All day. Every day. Together.  We are proof positive that familiarity does, in fact, breed contempt… and conflict… and ennui.  The transgressions add up quickly; this court’s docket can full by mid-morning. “You’ve never been spanked in your life. What are you talking about?” Must I worry about revisionist history on top of everything else? Welcome to QFC — Quarantine Family Court—West Coast Edition.… READ MORE

Hand’s Solo

Hand’s Solo

This post originally appeared on the Parkinson’s Community LA Blog in the fall of 2019. In honor of James Parkinson’s birthday (April 11, 1755) I am reposting it here.  My left-hand dances to a beat all its own. It doesn’t need a partner or even music. The digits just flutter.  Constantly. Faster when I’m cold, slower when I’m well-rested. Sometimes my hand’s compass points north, then gyrates south; sometimes it boogies east to west. My hand – like most Parkinson’s patients – is still only when I slumber, yet another neurological oddity on this disease’s idiopathic path. Progression is inevitable, but not necessarily terminal. As my dopamine-producing cells continue marching into That Good Night, my body will offer a plethora… READ MORE

Certainty

Certainty

The dishes whir in the dishwasher, the sun retires from this hemisphere. My husband responds to emails, the children collude with their computers to complete work while the dogs nuzzle them.  I am alone in the spotless kitchen. I listen to the rain and debate what will sate my soul’s parched tongue. I claim this transitional hour, when day gives way to night’s quiet dark, as mine the quiet a reward for a cacophonous day. A cup of tea? A glass of wine? Either will do because neither is what I truly crave. It is certainty that is my fave. The sun will rise in the east and set in the west, of that I am sure. As for anything… READ MORE

Mom Time: Part Two

Mom Time: Part Two

I love my children. I actually like them sometimes – at least often enough to keep me out of jail and them out of house arrest. Sometimes though, I have to rely on love alone and remind myself that motherhood is a blessing. Children are cute when they’re little and incapable of wiping their own ass. It’s Darwinian: even if expelled from the perfect derriere of your perfect progeny, poop stinks – and wiping it up for more than a few years can lead to insanity. Some children are capable of rudimentary self-care by age six. By the time they reach double digits, most can feed and bathe themselves. Thank God. What little sanity any parent retains after a decade… READ MORE

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