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Category: Tween Troubles

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Familial Fantasies

Familial Fantasies

I do not have the children I expected. They’re like me in ways I wish they weren’t. They express traits of their father’s that are not amongst my favorites. But, on some days I can see the best of myself and my spouse shimmer within them. I treasure those days. Even then, when I am hopeful and happy (relatively), I worry and cannot sideline the stereotypical Westside mother I embody. I push for more. Always and forever more. I am the Sisyphus of parenthood, my children the recalcitrant rock that will not heed my guidance up Opportunity Hill. My children are late bloomers. Some days I have to dig deep to believe that they will bloom at all; those days… READ MORE

Sex In the Afternoon

Sex In the Afternoon

My parents belonged to a generation that didn’t see the need to analyze and understand their union. They were a unit and I made three. I am part of a different generation. “You’re seeing the pediatrician on Tuesday,” I explain to my 12-year-old while discussing the week ahead to the soothing soundtrack of rain. “Oh, yeah, don’t I need that vaccine you’re supposed to get at 13 and then again during  high school?” “That’s the HPV vaccine. I think that you get that next time….” Thank heavens doctors keep careful records about which jab is administered when. I could never keep this acronym heavy aspect of childcare straight. “The HPV vaccine protects girls from cervical cancer,” I explain as the… READ MORE

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

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