thanksgiving traditions

Early this morning, Ren crawled in bed with me, not something he does every night...anymore. I looked at the clock and thought of early Thanksgiving mornings a few decades ago years ago when my mother was already out of bed to get the turkey in the oven. By the time the rest of the family woke a couple hours later, the house would be filled with the aroma of roasting turkey. And just a few more hours after that, around the formal dining table set with my mother’s finest china and silver, we would all take turns stating what we were most thankful for. Then we would dive into a very traditional Thanksgiving dinner.

flip flops

Flip Flops, we used to call them thongs, a name now almost exclusively relegated to skimpy underpants. Whether you call flip flops or thongs or jandals, pluggers, go-aheads, slaps, you know what they are, those simple open-toed sandals, consisting of a flat sole held loosely on the foot by a Y-shaped strap that passes between the first and second toes and around either side of the foot.

mommilocks and the three beds

Last night, Brently came home late from rehearsal. He decided to sleep on the couch so that he wouldn’t keep me awake. This meant his half of the bed was unoccupied. Somewhere around 4:30 a.m. I got up for a bathroom break. When I returned to my bed, I found it occupied, first by Ash and then by Ren. “Someone is sleeping in my bed,” I said to myself. “This bed is too full.”

to lock or not to lock

“I’m glad you don’t do that,” said B as he watched tv in bed late last night.

“Do what?” I ask, looking over my book at the tv, “Cross my arms and stand in the middle of the road to scare you as you back out of the driveway?”

“No, give me that disappointing look…” he says nodding toward the woman on the tv.

I bit my lip and laugh that nervous sort of laugh. I knew what was coming next.

“…but I get locked out a lot.”

our song

Two of my best friends from college just celebrated a milestone wedding anniversary and in recognition shared a link to their song on Facebook. The bride wrote, “Our song. The perfect way to end our 20th anniversary. Please enjoy the music while I slow dance with the love of my life…” Beautiful. 

B and I have a song, too, although I can never remember the name of that song. Today over lunch, I had to ask him again, “What is our song?”


I burned dinner tonight. Not all of it. Part of it.  I remembered the dish in the oven only moments before pandemonium ensued. The smoke detector beeped deafeningly. It’s human voice broadcasted with urgency, “Fire, Fire, Fire.” The dog barked incessantly, increasingly louder and in sync with the smoke detector. The girl covered her ears, screamed and ran from the kitchen. B reacted calmly. He handed me the baby after I removed the offending pan from the oven and set it safely to rest away from any fire. He stood under the battle claxon attempting to silence it.

singling out t-shirts

B has a lot of t-shirts, his attire of choice. Over the years he has owned a variety of them, his favorites becoming shabby and threadbare. Periodically, we go through his dresser to remove the most frayed, decrepit, holey and stained, always accompanied with a chorus of “What’s wrong with that one? I don’t see the problem. I can wear that when I’m working around the house.” My duet sings in reply, “You already have 50 work-around-the-house shirts, and still most of the time you choose to work around the house shirtless.” (That’s a fact, not a complaint.)

snippets from mother's day

Ash said, “Mother’s Day is not just about you, Mommy.”


Brent wrote me a card on Mother’s Day. It read, “I heard a quote the other day that said you don’t only marry someone because you love them but because you can’t live without them. I can’t live you. I will always be here for you. I may be plopped down on the couch in front of the TV, but I'm here.


Our neighbor stopped by and he said, “I told my wife the other day that Kat looked like she had gained weight and not just a little. She’s getting big.” He didn’t just blurt that out when he walked onto our back deck; he waited until we told him that we were expecting. And then he said, “Congratulations. But, you look great otherwise.”

a rather blue confession

It’s was late morning here on the eastern side of the country and with a couple of fun client projects sitting on my desk making good progress, I decided to take a short break and go for a Big Gulp–a college habit I just never seemed to break. Ash and I grabbed some loose change from B’s giant jar and hopped into the car headed for 7-11. As we pulled into the parking lot, she started on her chorus of “I want a Slurpee, I want a Blue Slurpee.”

a plot to take over the world

To All Comrades in Arms:  Yesterday our home-front mainframe was overtaken by a diabolical and extremely invasive mutant-space virus. Our frontline firewall and two anti-virus protective shields failed in the face of, I’m sorry to say, a far superior technology. This malevolent alien hacked through our entire system assuming command and disabling environmental controls. All was not lost. Most personnel and data were already safely stored off-site, keeping casualties low. It was through the self-sacrifice of a few brave scribes, email we call them, that any residual data made it to the escape pods and saved.