M is for Morning

Oh, Morning, why do you torment me so? How have I offended you to deserve the symphony of barking dogs, chattering squirrels and shrieking birds delivered to me in stereo with the volume set to 11? What social snub have I offered that would require a bathroom tile floor so cold that penguins roosting on it would migrate to warmer climates? What horrible insult have I hurled at you for my bathroom light switch to be connected to the sun?

Please, Morning, accept my apology for every injury I may have caused you previously and in the future. We can start over, try again to be friends. If I behave, maybe the next time I get up early to exercise with you, the kids will not wake up five minutes into my workout and refuse to go back to sleep. If I call myself a “Morning Person,” perhaps the next time I arise to see the sunrise and enjoy a cup of coffee with you, my mother’s radar won’t pick up on the fact that I’m awake and call me to discuss what my children want for Christmas for the hundredth time.

Oh, Morning, who am I kidding? We can never be friends – not when my bed is so cozy and warm. Not when Evening and I are out late having a cocktail together or reducing the recently reanimated dead to tiny bloody bits of rotting flesh on the Wii. Or both. I’m sorry we have to have such an adversarial relationship, Morning. I really am. Now will you please tell those freaking dogs to shut up so I can go back to bed?

L is for Lightning

Even as a child, I loved thunderstorms. I am completely enamored with everything about thunderstorms: the pelting sound of the rain punctuated by the growls of thunder, the beauty of the dark anvil lit in pinks and oranges by the setting sun, and the sudden illumination of lightning.

However, at least once in my life, I was not so excited by thunderstorms. I had been working as a night freight pilot of a small twin engine propeller aircraft and I had no experience navigating around thunderstorms during the day, let alone in the dark by myself. I was frightened, but I had made a commitment to my employers and I was bound and determined to get the job done while being smart enough to stay safe. While enroute, I received a tremendous amount of help from Air Traffic Control and the smooth air allowed me to finally begin to relax and actually see the majesty of the thunderstorms from a new perspective.

It is next to impossible to see a thundercloud at night except in glimpses provided by the lightning. And I realized that sometimes our lives are a lot like that – trying to steer our ship around danger in the dark with only the flashes of lightning to show our path. How can you know what you don’t know until something illuminates it for you, even if it’s only for a fraction of a second? Use those flashes to your advantage and scout out the pitfalls ahead in your path and avoid them. And, every once in a while, take a break to admire a thunderstorm. It can be an illuminating experience.

K is for Kinky

I know that my husband doesn’t have a mistress. I know this because not only is he my soul-mate (and I’m not just saying that to deter my stalkers – my new Taser takes care of that), but he doesn’t make enough money to afford me, let alone another woman. And as if that isn’t reason enough, I’ve found that my recent self-improvements have provided him with a brand new wife: me.

This new wife of his likes to experiment: in the kitchen trying new healthy recipes and baking treats from scratch; outdoors biking, jogging, and playing “ninja tag” with the kids; and in the bedroom trying positions once thought suitable only for yogis and gymnasts. Somehow, in the course of losing weight, I have become healthier, happier, more energetic and have apparently elevated my sensual skills to rival that of Aphrodite. Bonus!

It’s a completely win-win situation for me and my hubby. And it gets better – not only do you burn calories doing the wild thing, all that fun releases endorphins that help alleviate stress, improve sleep quality, and make you a lot more enjoyable to be around, which in turn, boosts your relationship. You can even combine the horizontal mambo with other pleasurable things to get more bang for the buck (pun intended), such as chocolate or a foot massage. What could be better than that?

So go ahead and get jiggy with it! And don’t forget the Godiva!

J is for Jack

In my never-ending quest to be The Galaxy’s Most Awesome Mom and Coolest Chick Ever, I am continually adding tools (and outlining the good ones so I know where they go) to my parental and personal mental pegboards. I have found that one of the most important of these tools is communication. And like any good tool, it must be honed and cleaned and kept in good working order so that it is available for use when needed, usually without any prior notice at all. That’s the “official” reason I try to keep up with the vernacular of the younger generations. The real reason is because I fully intend to embarrass my children when they’re teenagers by being that woman from the movie “Airplane” who offers to act as a “Jive translator” for the flight attendant.

With this in mind, I offer the word “Jack” as a synonym for “steal.” For example, you might say to your co-worker, “I saw you jack that box of pens.” Or when you’re at a movie with a date, you might try to jack a kiss. When one of your friends has a particularly good Facebook Status, you might comment, “lol! I’m going to jack that! Thanks!” You get the picture.

And as a contender for The Galaxy’s Most Awesome Mom and Coolest Chick Ever, I say don’t learn from your own mistakes – learn from the mistakes made by others first. Jack the good information for yourself and trash the rest. Jack what works and get rid of what doesn’t. Don’t waste your time re-inventing the wheel – learn from the mistakes of those who have already paved the way. And, hey, gimme one of those pens you jacked.

I is for Imbecile

You know who I’m talking about.

That nitwit in the POS Honda that just pulled out in front of you at the last second when there’s no one behind you and proceeded to drive 15 mph under the speed limit when you were already late for work. Or the doofus in front of you in the checkout line at the grocery store with 35 items in the 15 item express lane who just pulled out a wad of coupons and a checkbook. Or maybe it’s the dimwit who lives down the street from you who believes the world, and your front yard in particular, is his Doberman’s personal poop depository. Or perhaps it’s all the cretins running for political office this November. Take your pick.

Today, I’d like you to consider this: maybe that imbecile is in your life for a reason. Maybe Honda boy’s interference with your commute kept you from being in a 15 car pile-up on the highway. Maybe Old Lady Checkbook just lost her husband and is so grief-stricken she’s unaware that she’s still buying groceries for two. Perhaps Doberman’s Dad is just a jerk. And all those politicians may be trying to make you angry enough to vote without stopping to consider whether they or their opponents more closely embody your values. Whether it’s to keep you safe, teach you compassion, patience, forgiveness, or simply to think about the consequences of your actions, the Imbecile may actually serve a purpose.

So, when you find your Imbecile today (and you will, trust me), take a step back from your anger and look for his or her purpose. You may be amazed by your discovery. 🙂

H is for Halloween


Halloween is my favorite holiday ever. There is nothing that I don’t like about it. It’s spooky. I get to pretend to be whatever or whoever I can dream up. And there’s chocolate. It’s a scientific fact that chocolate can make anything better. It’s true. Next time you prepare liver for dinner, have some chocolate instead. There, isn’t that better? Case closed.

The boy is going to be Dan from Bakugan (an Anime character with a red ball that turns into a giant dragon and battles other giant creatures – I know, I don’t get it either), the girl is going to be Little Bo Peep (and HOLY CRAP, she is cute!), and I was going to be her sheep – a black sheep. So apropos. However, since my husband would rather pluck out his own eyeballs and lick them than stay home and hand out candy to the little goblins, he has claimed the right to be the sheep, and I am left without a costume.

So, whatever shall I be? The possibilities are endless. And now that I’m about 50 pounds lighter, those possibilities are bound to be at least slightly more on the skimpy side of scary than past Halloweens (maybe I should have made this a video blog so you could see the HUGE grin on my face right now). But no matter what I end up wearing, I know I’m going to look Spooktacular and THAT, my friends, is good enough for me.

Happy Hauntings, ghoul-friends!

G is for Guilt

Guilt pisses me off.

I’m not talking about the kind of guilt you feel when you do something truly horrible, like accidentally reducing a raccoon minding it’s own business in the middle of a lonely two lane road to fuzzy mush. You should feel guilty for that, murderer. I’m talking about letting feelings of inadequacy sneak into your heart and berate you mercilessly for even thinking about a delicious, mouth-watering fudge covered Oreo. Why do we do it? What purpose does guilt serve? Not a damn thing, as far as I’m concerned.

Guilt is a completely useless emotion. It doesn’t stop me from stuffing that delectable morsel of chocolate nirvana into my cakehole. It doesn’t magically make that 2,000,000 calorie tidbit disappear into a puff of heavenly smelling cocoa-licious smoke. It doesn’t make a bit of difference the next time I’m faced with the same choice of whether or not to consume that miniature chocolate hockey puck of life. It’s gonna happen. Count on it.

So why the guilt? Everything is a choice. Make your choice and move on. No regrets. Life is too short to deny yourself a little pleasure now and then, especially after all the hard work you do every single day. Celebrate your victories, learn from your defeats, and have a cookie, for Pete’s sake!