The other night I dreamt I was pregnant with my ex-boyfriend’s baby. This is impossible for many reasons, not the least of which is I haven’t laid eyes on him since 1996. (Oh, and my ten years of marriage, though I guess that doesn’t stop everybody from getting into this particular pickle). No matter—in the…
When you are four, poop is hilarious. Last night, Noodle and I corrected an overtired meltdown (hers, though some nights it’s mine) by crawling into her bed and singing a few lullabies together. It was a lovely mother-and-child moment, the sort that seems more precious to me now that she’s only days away from five,…
Recently I took the chickens to the pet store. I envisioned a fun activity with which to fill a foggy February morning. I imagined the chicken’s delight at my suggestion of a goldfish to bring home—maybe two, if I were feeling particularly magnanimous. What a good mother I am, I secretly self-congratulated. Chicken Noodle had…
Last week I was invited to a middle-school classroom to talk about being a writer. It was one of those moments that made me go “huh?” and look over my shoulder for the real grown-up/real writer who was surely standing behind me. “Oh, you mean me?” said my inner ego, who is nerdy, shy and…
As a writer/mother, I always point out author bylines and photos when I read books to the chickens. A few days back while unloading groceries, Chicken Little pulled this box from the pile. “Look, Mom,” she said, all wide-eyed, pointing to Pa and Nell. “These are the people who wrote the popcorn!” I get so…
So, I’m trolling through the grocery store. The chickens trail behind me. They bleat. “Mommy can we have this? Can we have that? Momm-meey?” They grab boxes of Pokemon macaroni and cheese and bottles of bubble bath shaped like Cinderella off the shelves. They bonk into other shoppers like poorly-shot pool balls. It’s been a…
Captain Daddy, on the plane over as Chicken Little climbs him like King Kong on the Empire State Building, roaring and kicking: “Kill me now.” — Captain Daddy, night one, 2 a.m.: “Are you going to take her to the ER or am I?” — R (age 6) to Chicken Noodle (age 4), day two:…
Today is the one-year anniversary of this blog! Bust out the champagne! Oh. It’s 6 am. Well. Coffee will do. Slip a little something in it, if you must. Here’s a Blooming Year One redux. First post: Popcorn Blog Inspiration: Late Bloomers Hero’s Challenge, Act I: Consult Foreshadowing: Free the French Fries Plot Twist:…
This is picked up I sleep under fine art The very latest in home decorating We did this, yep. A couple of weeks ago we went to a friend of Noodle’s on a play date. It turned out to be the kind of house that makes…
Well, I’m back. You didn’t notice I was missing? Just read the posts written from Thanksgiving until the week before Christmas, especially this one. They were written by my evil twin. Between you and me, she needs to be institutionalized. Or at least heavily medicated. I must admit that I am not one of those…