It's a whirlwind. "Gweta!" "T-Teeeeee!" "Sim-ey!" "Mama!" Orange rinds everywhere. "Clear your plates please," said with the sigh of repetition. Chairs askew. Everywhere askew. When can I have my thoughts? When can I sit down and get up when I WANT to? Popcorn everywhere. The fullness is overwhelming. It won't stop. Go go go! Make food. Clean it up. Make food. Clean it up. Make food. Clean it up. Make food. Clean it up. Am I making food again? Am I cleaning up again? If I'm making food again, why is no one eating it? If I'm cleaning up again, how has it gotten so messy again? When will they do these things for themselves? Without reminders? Should  they do these things for themselves? Without reminders? Or should I be helping them with these things? Without nagging? Because that's what a mother does? Just like should I say that differently, do that differently, be less pre-occupied, be

Let's remember: we're all just trying here. It's the real deal, but we don't really get a dress rehearsal. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Well, this won't necessarily be all I have to say about this topic, and I didn't intend to title it as such, but it just came out. I remember Matthew had a book with a similar title, something like Between Two Worlds: Children of Divorce . It had a kind of ominous presence. I teach Early Childhood Education--in case you didn't know--to adults who want to work with young children. I have to teach things like child development, guiding and caring, art, music, health and safety, all that type of thing. There's this one textbook I have to use that has this very specific section all about the "myths" of divorce. I have to make sure and cover it, because it's on the exam. I didn't write the exam, it's a stan

It's in all caps cause it's a loaded word. Isn't it? You don't want to see it, it's kind of ugly, harsh, terrifying, you want to run from it ...or...maybe you want to run TO it? Because it feels safe. Safer, more predictable, than an unpredictable world. I'm going to be writing about a very loaded and heavy and sensitive subject tonight. I'm taking a risk in doing that, but the ideas for my posts pop in naturally. I don't have to force to find something. Sometimes more than one idea pops at once, but I always know which to go with. And tonight it's ADDICTION. When I was 16 I had my first real boyfriend. I *think* I fell in love, all that, I mean honestly maybe the love part wasn't really there, but to my 16 year old self it was. So I count it. Plus the relationship went on for the better part of a year, and was as serious as you can be when you're just 16. This was nearly 24 years ago, and, of course, it ended in heartbreak. That's

How I met Simon, that's what this post is going to be about. ................................................................................................................................................................... The agony of dating is real, people. Maybe you've forgotten, cause it's been since high school or university since you tried it. But do we ever really forget something so agonizing? I spent 2016-2018 in this agony! Ha! Ok, it wasn't allllllllllll agony. But no thanks, I don't ever want to go back there! And to top it off, the whole online dating thing makes it that much more ridiculous. That's for another post. Or never. It's because of an online date that I met Simon, but I did not meet Simon through online dating. Does that make sense? He did say, though, that a year or so before we met he had tried out some dating site--once, and he hated it--but he saw my profile on there, liked it or something, maybe even tried to talk t