It’s 12:51 a.m. on a Sunday. Well, technically a Monday. Everyone else is asleep, and yet, here I am, at the computer. I should be asleep. I’m tired. But instead I’m up. I know I’ll pay for this tomorrow, but I’m still up. No one is on Facebook. I’ve answered all my email. I even cleaned the kitchen. I should go to bed. But it’s kind of nice to be able to do whatever I want without interruption. I like (...Read More)

Regardless of your religious affiliation, there are bound to be cookies at some point in your year. Since we are Christians, we celebrate Christmas which I’m pretty sure is a Latin derivative of “cookie holiday.” There are cookies in every direction, at every function. And usually you can find me sitting right next to them with my mouth full of sweet teeth and my hands full of hot coffee, because if anyone likes a good cookie, it’s me. So you’d (...Read More)

By order of Your Royal Highness Her Majesty the Queen (a.k.a. “Mom”), it is hereby decreed that all non-tax-paying inhabitants of this household shall accept their duty as Her subjects to clean the Kingdom. No longer will the Queen tolerate the life of shiftless loafing luxury the Kingdom’s serfs now enjoy. Her Majesty expects little: Plebeians must empty the trash, dust, vacuum and clean the toilet on Her command, without complaint. Furthermore, the Queen expects a few menial chores to (...Read More)

As a mom, I, of course, want to expose my children to all sorts of social and cultural opportunities. And living in a large city (Seattle) there are lessons and groups for every interest a child or parent might want to embark upon. Milo and Belle could take part in soccer, basketball, curling, Karate, painting, cooking, trombone playing, French, 4-H, etcetera, etcetera. So, the question becomes, what do you choose? What doors do you attempt to open for your kids? (...Read More)

Well, I bit the bullet and decided I could no longer put off the inevitable: Luke needed to start potty training. He’ll be turning 3 in a few months and he’s a big 3. I started imagining disturbing scenarios like an overgrown teenage boy stuffed into a tiny kindergartner’s desk/chair combo getting teased for wearing Huggies. The night before the big day, P-Day (like D-day but not nearly as exciting), I assumed my best spaz-cheerleader face and started to pump (...Read More)