Tag Archives: Featured

Show Me Your Scar, I’ll Show You Mine

I have scars.

I got one recently after I cooked lunch for some friends. In the rush to have everything on the table at the same time, I burned my hand as I took bread out of the oven. It didn’t hurt until the next day. A puffy little blister, sore to the touch; I knew it would leave a mark.

There’s more. If you look closely, you can still see the faded triangle between my left calf and shin from the fifth grade when I tried to officiate a fight between two German Shepherds. On my other shin, there’s a scar from when I slid down a concrete bench in the 11th grade. I can still see where …

BEAUTIFUL THURSDAY!

 

 

Today I am starting something new. Maybe it will trend. Oh, yeah that’s it; you’ve got to use the right language if you want anything to catch on now.

Whatever. (No, make that Whatevs. That’s how Sophie would say it.)

I recently stalked looked at one of my friend’s albums on FB. I was so surprised by one pic that I immediately private messaged her with, “There are few women in the world that can show up * , but you did by 1,000000000,0000000 degrees. I just needed to tell you once again how absolutely beautiful you are!!”

[* She was standing next to a well-known person but all names have been removed to protect

The Bagman Cometh. Or See-eth.

A quick trip to the grocery comes with a dilemma. Makeup? No makeup? Hat? No hat? I care about what I wear, but not always. Sometimes I take the real me, unphotoshopped, as I sneak around the aisles. If I spot someone I know, I pretend to be glued to the buy-one-get-one free chicken broth just to go unnoticed.

Today I just wanted to get in and out of the store, short and sweet. I didn’t feel like small talk but you can’t escape it there. The people in green are just so stinkin’ friendly.

The very second I walked to where the baskets were waiting, I was greeted by the kindest man ever. Jacob. Older than my father but …

Tearing Up the Scary

The first time Eli forgot his lunchbox I didn’t realize it until it was almost too late. I got to school just as the second graders were marching towards a smell that, in my opinion, was anything but appetizing. Imagine a wave of relief sweeping over a face. My boy looked at me through tears. “She said I had to buy my lunch. And that I had to eat it.”

I got that hen and her chick feeling, ready to peck away at the teacher who would be so mean as to tell my son he had to do anything, let alone eat that mess.

I never knew my son was quite so obedient!

It was a few months ago …


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