- The travel-size section at Walgreens (I’m taking all the cute minis on my trip)
- The exercise aisle at Five Below (I’d exercise if I had a new yoga mat…and block…and pedometer…and)
- The produce section at Costco (I’m only eating salad from now on)
- The Container Store (Gonna organize everything)
- Barnes & Noble (I’ll make time to read a whole book)
- REI (Sleeping outside looks fun)
- Any hotel gym (I’m totally gonna treadmill on vaycay)
- The Great Escape (We need a pool, right?)
- Any craft store (I’ll make this…and this…and)
- Home Depot (Let’s play in all the fake kitchens)
- The boat show (I could get used to this)
- An open house (Ooh, nice trafalet)
- A buffet (I can try whatever I want)
- The Kwik-Mart (My Powerball ticket is the winner)
- Parking garages (I always get a good spot)
- Got out of SUV wrong
- Wore heels
- Moved furniture
- Tried yoga
- Ate something spicy
- Licked envelope
- Sat in bleachers too long
- Stepped on Lego
- Yawned too big
- Bent down then tried to get up
- Sneezed too hard
- Slept wrong
- Got up too fast
- Ate cheese
- Shoveled snow
- Tried to read without my glasses
- Reached for something
- Opened plastic toy packaging
- Shaved legs
You can hear it in the air. You can hear it everywhere. Does she even care? Why does Mommy swear?
She swears at other drivers. She swears at rude connivers. She swears at messy spills. Is this how she gets her thrills?
She swears when she is late and she cannot find her keys. She swears when she is busy and must stop to take a pee.
She does it when she cooks. She does it when she cleans. She doesn’t try to hide it and she isn’t being mean. She sometimes swears a little, but usually swears more. She even says words that I never heard before.
Is it because she’s tired and always feels a bit perturbed? Or maybe that her hands are too full to flip the bird?
Why Mommy swears a lot is a mystery, you see. She seems to swear at everything, but she never swears at me.
I’m tired. It’s a tiredness born from from stress.
A week ago I had reconstruction surgery on my breasts after having a mastectomy last March to rid me of breast cancer. Everything went well, there were no surprises, and I consider myself lucky. I had my follow up appointment with the plastic surgeon, who seemed pleased with his work. I’m still sore, swollen and bruised, so it’s hard for me to agree at this point, but we’ll see.
I brought my little girl along for the two hour trek into the city. She was perfect at the plastic surgeon’s office, wonderful at The Museum of Contemporary Art, adorable at the playground. But…The Disney Store was one outing too much and her meltdown ensued right there on Michigan Avenue. I pleaded, “I can’t carry you because of my boo – boo.”
And that’s when you appeared.
You were older, maybe 70, and very nicely dressed. You told my daughter you loved her sparkly Hello Kitty boots and pink baret. You said they were nicer than any shoes you had. My daughter hid behind me and didn’t talk. You smiled at us. Then your expression turned serious and you said. “You’re doing a good job.”
And then you were gone.
You have no idea what that meant to me at that moment. Your affirmation made my day, and this was no normal day — It was a day I cleared a major medical hurdle. But at that moment you spoke directly to the heart of who I am. You somehow knew what I needed to hear.
And I thank you.
- Clean sheets.
- When Pandora “gets” me.
- When sesame crunchies are on the salad bar.
- When my dog keeps my feet warm.
- The smell of a brand new book.
- Hazelnut cookies.
- G-2 pens.
- The travel size section at Walgreens.
- Having a show to binge watch.
- My hair started graying
- My son stopped watching cartoons.
- My son started using words like “actually” and “ludicrous.”
- My joints started creaking.
- My clothes stopped fitting right.
- My eyes got worse.
- My son started making his own breakfast.
- My son started putting himself to sleep at night.
- My son stopped being afraid of thunder.
- My soul got calmer.