Category Archives: Gratitude

November 2024 Month in Review: Cool Like a Sweathog, Sweat Like a Coolhog

Books, Gratitude, Life and Other Existential Problems, Month in Review, Parenting, Recommendations, , , , , , , ,

Oh, November. You spicy dirtbag what with your chaotic offerings. Pumpkin pie (yes!) My birthday (fine), and *checks hearing* skeet season. Indefatigable skeet season. Because nothing says “charming small town in late autumn” like ten-hour PEW PEW symphonies punctuated by leaf blowers every weekend. Best noise friends forever!

Apologies for griping about this again. I’m tired. And not in the fun “I ran a marathon” kind of way, but in the “I live inside a t-shirt cannon” kind of way. 

I’d love to be cool about it. You know, like a Sweathog. They’re still cool, right? Or they once were? Sort of?

Bless their hearts.

Also, just so we’re clear: If I ever so much as hint at interest in running a marathon, call Liam Neeson. Clearly I’ve been taken.

Speaking of taking, my twins are out here taking tests — driver education, PSATs, SATs, a whole alphabet soup of Ts? It’s familiar and not so much. They don’t even have to fill in the circles completely and make their marks dark. What madness is that?

Life is lifing, people, and I’m bracing for the impact of seismic changes as they head out in a few years while also wondering what I did to make my back hurt this time. (Sneezing, probably.) Anyway, the twins and their younger sibling are excellent, hilarious humans who, for reasons unknown to science or the Divine, recently played tic-tac-toe using a photo of Bernie Moreno as the board. I don’t get it. I don’t want to get it. But I love them for it. Probably. Unless Urban Dictionary comes in hot with a definition so cursed it makes me question not just my potentially unholy parenting choices but also which cosmic joke stuck these tic-tac-toe anarchists with me as a mother.

Let’s awkwardly transition here to a more serious note: my mother-in-law passed away this month after illness and a hospice stay that felt both too short and impossibly long. Our rhythms are altered forever. Daily life feels like we’re walking through a house where someone rearranged all the furniture while we were sleeping.

Grief is a strange beast. It’s mercenary and acquisitive. It’s sneaky and insistent. Right now, everything feels very takey. I usually live in the givey camp, so there is clash. At some point, these two modes will need to mesh better (for me, for you, for all of us). But for now, we stand here, holding the pieces, hoping they’ll eventually fit together.

I know I’m not alone in this. Your pieces may look different and might fit together in another way, but we’re all arms-full of pieces.

We’ll figure it out.

This time of year always makes me crave community — real, soft-edged community. Now more than ever, because, honestly, it feels like half of us are allergic to the concept.

For now, I focus on a few good people, naps, moody weather, and curling my fingerless-gloved hands around a mug of something steaming. All the soft, cushiony, slightly drafty things. To be a hygge gourmand, if you will. Or if you won’t. Either way.

Maybe it’s just time to reread Wintering.

For now, the holidays charge at us like an over-sugared, under-napped toddler with a glitter cannon, my writing continues with something like enjoyment, and the world remains a noisy, beautiful dumpster fire of delight and despair.

But we’re here, right? We’re doing the damn thing, even if we have no idea what the damn thing is. I think it involves Hūsker Dū, but don’t quote me on that.

Or maybe Hüsker Dü?

As Brian Eno (probably) said: “You’re most alive when you’re not quite sure what’s going on.” If that’s true, then congratulations to me: I am the most alive human in the history of aliveness.

Pass the soup.

Here are some splashes of marvelous from November, 2024:

  • Watch the following at your own risk. I’m not sure what it is, exactly, but it has big car-crashes-into-a-random-iceberg-floating-down-Main-Street energy. And this ditty is constructing a weird little flute-shaped nest in my brain. Rent free.
  • This quote by Louise Glück hit me like a piano falling from the sky — sudden, sharp, and oddly satisfying. Except that satisfying part. More like a not-entirely unpleasant metaphysical headache in the key of F#. Anyway, it’s less frustrating than the movie Interstellar.
  • Kiese Laymon’s Letter from Home over at The Bitter Southerner is one hell of a nearly-perfect personal essay.
  • Read this article about Pulp Fiction turning 30: a retrospective so cool it wears sunglasses indoors. I recommend pairing it with a Royale with Cheese (not included).
  • Technically this was an October delight. I attended a reading featuring many of the authors from the anthology 3rd and Oak. Then I got the book. You should, too. And if you ever get the chance to see these authors reunite, drop everything and go. Also, a PSA: if Carrie Hayes is moderating anything — I don’t care if it’s a PTA meeting or a seminar on municipal parking regulations — ATTEND. Trust me.
  • Erika Meitner’s poem over at The New Yorker. Read it. Absorb it. Embody it. Punch a clock in its smug little face. Not this clock, though. It’s cute.
Available at kawaii-heaven.com. I have no affiliation.
  • Every so often, my teenagers willingly hang out with us, and when they do, we play Jackbox. And let me tell you, I laugh to tears every single time we play. The games are varied enough that everyone gets a moment to shine. Real self-care is enjoying your weird, wonderful family.

So, howdy, December! May yours be full of good essays, weirdly compelling nonsense, and laughter so uncontrollable it could be classified as a cardio workout.

And feel free to call Liam Neeson for me anyway. He seems like he’d be fun to talk with.

Spanx for the Memories and Absolutely No Other Puns but Maybe a Couple of References to Pie 

Creative non-fiction, Gratitude, Humor, Life and Other Existential Problems, Month in Review, Parenting, Recommendations, Writing

May 2024 Month in Review

Greetings, fellow snarklings.

Does “I was tired” count as a review? Probably not, but it does explain why my recommendations this month are as thin as a caffeine-free latte and mostly limited to “Get some sleep.”

Normally I feel a small weird panic if these reviews don’t magically appear* within 48 hours of the month ending. As if reflections have a cosmic expiration date. As though if they’re not served fresh, they’re compost. Four or five days into the month feels like the Ides of June (not these guys), which means it’s practically autumn, and wait, am I writing this from the future, circa 2027?

*as if I don’t have to write them

How we’ve conditioned ourselves to immediacy. Time is an unforgiving overlord. Here you go, Time, take the wheel. Knock yourself out.

This is all just to say that it feels like we’re functioning in the interstices May grudgingly doles out.

Let’s get into it, even if I’m a few days late. Maybe time is a poet, sweetening like a fine wine, sharpening like a cheddar, chunking up like old milk.

(Time may be a poet. I am not. Unless you want a poem about old milk.)

Anyway, here we are, tardy but with all the juicy details:

This time of year is a cocktail of achievement, exploration, wrapping up, recognition, and proving oneself. It’s a whirlwind of scope, sequence, pace, and sugar highs. When your whole family feels burned out by May 2nd, you know it’s going to be a long month. The world was like an angry blender — whirring and sharp and loud. AP tests, finals, placements, end-of-year celebrations, countdowns, more tests, competitions, nationals, baseball, track meets, concerts, performances, meetings, and good grief! It was a family endurance test, and my role was mostly snack duty and stress management.

Note: “You’ve got this” is less appreciated when accompanied by an inadvertent spray of half-chewed Ritz crackers.

This seems an appropriate time to give a hearty HALLOO and THANK YOU to all the adults in the kids’ lives who guided them to this particular finish line. You are excellent and I hope you can spend the next few months living in something other than 42-minute stretches.

Looking forward to a moment’s respite before the summer fully grabs us for a good do-si-do…oh wait, no. Just got an email with the subject line “Are We Doomed?” Better return my tray to the upright position.

Here are some splashes of marvelous from May 2024

(i.e. things I enjoyed that you may also enjoy or possibly not if you are feeling contrarian and cross.)

  • I got to be helpful this past year, a little bit, in places like my boys’ school and other community organizations. I can only hope my kind of help wasn’t the kind Shel Silverstein poked at, presented here from the Free to Be You and Me album for our first pie reference and also to meet our recommended daily requirement of Tommy Smothers:
  • I’m sneaking a family wedding into this month’s review, even though it technically happened in June (but the rehearsal dinner and travel were in May.) I visited Kansas City for the first time. Quite an excellent place. The rehearsal dinner was held in Union Station. Is there anything more filled with all the big human emotions, history, and excellent ceilings than a train station? I dare say, no? I DO DARE. The wedding itself was glorious, thoughtful, and beautiful. Maybe someday I’ll share more once the happy couple gets to tell their story first. (Guys, they sent us home with some of this barbecue sauce. IT’S AWESOME. I may or may not have been sticking my pinkie in there to get every last bit. Ok, I may have. I totally may have.)
  • Dr. Pepper Strawberries and Cream is turning me into a 12-year-old. That’s fine.
  • Shopped for the aforementioned wedding. Needed blue — not navy — heels. These shoes came up in the search. Alas, I did not get them, but I really want to get to know the person who does.

I already know the type who wears these:

(It’s me! Ask me about my neuroma!)

  • The best thing I can say about The Super Mario Bros. Movie is that it tapped into wellsprings of antipathy I didn’t realize I had. Except for Jack Black. I’m no monster.
  • Speaking of being behind, I’m watching Gilmore Girls which somehow escaped my attention the first go-around. Now I’m catching up and enjoying it along, apparently, with the rest of the world. Go Team Zeitgeist!
  • I need to accept that my husband does not take good photos of me. Maybe it’s the height difference, or maybe I operate under the mistaken belief that I do not look like a bridge troll. Or maybe I do in fact look like something out of Neil Gaiman’s nightmares, — in which case, excellent photography skills, honey. And if any of you jokesters are thinking of asking to see said photos, I SAY NAY.
  • Losing Alice Munro was a blow to writers and readers everywhere. Having her words still with us assuages the ache. Here’s an interview.
  • This is perfect and also a little flaky.
  • I leave you with this, someone who needs neither introduction nor Spanx. Probably. I can’t be sure.

Klappe zu, Affe tot, May. I’m off to look for some rhubarb to start on one of these:

The Scent of Mother’s Day

Gratitude, Humor, Parenting, Things that smell, Under 750, Writing, ,

Oy. The things I’m seeing about Mother’s Day.

Maybe the problem is that we’ve tried to selectively apply a version of sainthood to motherhood. Or vice versa.

Now bear with me because I don’t know a lot about sainthood, and I don’t have an exhaustive understanding of motherhood in full, but “exhaustion” and “motherhood” are two words that, if I am ever turned into a school worksheet, will be included in the word bank.

Continue reading The Scent of Mother’s Day →