I watched from a distance as you stood a few yards away from your young son. Holding a football in your hands, you called out to him, “I’ll try.” In that moment, I felt an instant connection to you, so I kept watching and listening. You pulled your arm back, aimed (or maybe you didn’t), and let that football fly towards your son. Only, the ball flew toward your three o’clock, not your twelve o’clock where your son stood, waiting expectantly with arms outstretched….
Listen, you two, I know you detest being parented and I am so very utterly sorry, not sorry about that… click here to read the rest of my article over at Perfection Pending.
My annual well-woman exam is coming up, and I’m wondering if I’ll tell my doctor the truth this year.
Each year there seems to be something I find I am not willing to offer up on the intake forms, some truth that’s too hard to tell.
Once I’m in the exam room and face to face with her, she probes, she inquires, she looks me in the eye as I respond and sometimes, I lie…
An Instagram post by Holly Glenn Whitaker of @hipsobriety grabbed my attention a while back. She made a list of things she doesn’t do anymore, as opposed to the oft’-oppressive and always forever-replenishing to-do lists we compose for our lives and then fret over. I adored her concept and followed suit.
Here’s my latest essay, originally published by my new favorite online publication, P.S. I Love You. Their tagline is, ‘Writing from the heart. Stories about life, loss and love in the digital age.’ So I think it’s a good fit. Click on over and give me a “clap,” would ya? The more claps, the more readers, the more readers, the less lonely people in the world. That’s how I see it playing out anyway.
I read a lot of books written by women for other women. Also, a lot of female authored blogs, articles, posts, social media shout-outs and shoe descriptions on Zappos. I’ve noticed a lot of ladies I admire and respect like to write a lot about girlfriends. Specifically, how phenomenal theirs are. Like, really and truly PHENOMENAL. And something isn’t sitting right with me.