Tag: sons

a memory lane detour

I took a trip down Memory Lane last week. Not purposely. It was the kind of Memory Lane trip you take when you’re avoiding doing what you’re supposed to be doing, that you really didn’t want to do. Anyway. Yeah. That. I couldn’t help it. I stumbled across a big HUGE folder, made to look

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what mattered today

As I write this, my oldest son is sitting at the bedside of his dying grandfather. And my middle son is driving home, across five states, to be at the beside of his paternal grandfather too. I pray he makes it here. Safely. And in time. Two days before I heard about my ex-father-in-law’s fate,

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what are names?

Recently I had lunch with my oldest son Jamie, and the subject of names came up because a relative recently gave her baby an oddball name, from a character in a popular slasher flick. Then my son told me about a kid he knew in college named Baskin Knight. Naturally I asked if his middle

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Can’t You Just Let It Be, Squirrel?

My husband’s archenemy is a squirrel. Any squirrel. Think: Carl Spackler and the gopher infestation at Bushwood. And there you have it. My husband’s relationship with squirrels -in a nutshell. For example… Hubs won’t park his car under the tree in our driveway, because he swears the squirrels will purposely drop their shells on HIS

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Cock-A-Doodle-Doo

My seventeen year old son Nic started college this week. Nic is a high school senior this year, but he is taking all of his classes at the local state college, and he is earning both high school and college credit; it’s a really cool program. And he still gets to participate in all of

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Everybody Else’s Mother Wins Again

I’m not going to win The Mother of the Year Award again this year. That’s twenty-six years in a row I’ve been passed up. I’m starting to feel like Susan Lucci. My twenty-six year old son is currently annoyed with me because I called him too early this morning, and I woke him up to

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Happy 17th bEARTHday Nic!

Tomorrow is Earth Day, and my youngest son Nic’s seventeenth birthday. A week or so ago, Nic was sitting at the kitchen table making a list, and so I asked him what he needed from the store… This isn’t a grocery list Mom. “What kind of list is it?” It’s my Birthday List. “Uh, you’re

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I’ll Be Your Son For Chocolate

I’m an auto-pilot parent. Well, sort-of. I mean, I worry and keep track of the kid; but the helicopter parenting days are long gone. And my almost-seventeen-year-old son, Nic, likes to pretend he was hatched from an egg anyway, so he barely gives me the time of day… Until a candy holiday. Mom, am I

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Drama Mama’s Speechwriter Needs Aide

Via text, at 7:30 on a rare morning I can actually sleep in… Mom are you awake? Hello? YESSSS (Phone rings) It’s my dramatic, twenty-five year old son. MOM! HELP! I’m screwed. Are you home? Where are you? I need you to print my speech for class. Mom? Are you asleep? Can you print it?

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Moms of Boys Have More Fun & Fewer Washcloths

Recently my friend and I had a conversation about the differences between raising boys and raising girls. My friend’s life is full of American Girl dolls, pastels, gymnastics and sweet smells. My friend has a daughter. As the mother of three boys, my life has always been about sourcing funky smells, ER trips, comic book

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