Do Tell Your Tell

There’s a woman in my past who hurt me deeply. Let’s call her Alfreda.

I thought we were friends. I wanted to be her friend. But she betrayed me and discarded the friendship I offered and sadly, we are no longer in relationship.

She never apologized to me but, being a good little Christian, I uttered the words: “I forgive you, Alfreda,” years ago.

And being a good little Christian, I wanted to mean them. And I guess I did, but the truth is, in most cases, if we are really honest with ourselves, forgiveness is a process of time and commitment to the idea, not a single moment or a fuzzy feeling that fades when we remember the wrong done to us.

Because Mondays Have Teeth And Bite Mommas

I am convinced that my son, Noah, is allergic to Mondays.

There is something about a Monday that brings the worst in the kid. His evil twin, who crouches in dark corners all weekend, comes out angry and biting first thing Monday morning, at the exact moment I place an open textbook in front of him. My normally compliant, sweet boy turns into a stubborn, fit-pitching, foaming out of the mouth, head-spinning, spawn of Satan.

Literally.

The Case of the Missing Silly Bone

Last night in the car my kids began to name all the words they know for butt, in English and in Spanish. It was a delightful five minutes, let me tell ya.

Then, of course, next came all the words they know for throw-up, buggers, and poop. By now even Matt is joining in on the fun. I, being the only adult left in the car, sat quiet and dignified in the front seat. Eventually someone, Lord I hope it was Noah or Isabel, shouted, “How about all the words we know for crotch?!” at which point I yelled, “No more!” and order was restored, followed by mumbles of the mom-is-no-fun variety from all involved.