- Wear enormous necklaces
- Roll my eyes at people
- Get a discount at IHOP
- Wear clogs as dress shoes
- Say non sequiturs
- Wear slippers to the grocery store
- Swim during the safety break
- Swear even more
- Call whippersnappers “sonny” and “doll face”
- Day drink
- William Barr
- Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s health
- Timing a poached egg
- Running late
- Certain people
- Picking a restaurant
It was announced that Ted Nugent is headlining my local county fair this summer. He’s an aging 70s rock star who spouts hatred, misogyny, prejudice and alternative facts. I wrote a letter to the fair committee and said that after a decade of enjoying the event I won’t be bringing my kids this year. I’m disgusted that my community is hosting this a-hole. I’m pissed off. I’m…playing right into Ted Nugent’s hands.
Ted Nugent issued a statement in response to the controversy that said, “Only liars and America hating scumbags have a problem with me.” WTF? This pissed me off more. Then I get pissed about letting Ted Nugent piss me off. Then I think about how our culture is addicted to outrage, and how the media feeds our outrage, and I get even more pissed off at the whole circle of outrage…F-you, Ted Nugent, for setting me off.
The whole thing makes me feel like I should do more yoga and meditation. Then I feel guilty for not doing enough yoga and meditation. It’s exhausting. And I’m tired of feeling exhausted all the time. And this pisses me off all over again. Is this ironic? Or merely Alanis Morissette-ironic?
But then there’s the flip side. Let me switch gears for a moment. I’m also hopeful about certain things. Like my kids. They calm me and ground me. They are my hope and joy. I’m excited to watch them navigate toward their goals despite the inevitable obstacles and frustrations they will face. I’m excited when my son talks about politics – he’s twelve and he’s into politics! He wants to make the world a better place. (He also wants to play Fortnite all the time, but oh well.)
The smile on my daughter’s face is brilliant. It fills my heart. I love watching her think. It’s like magic. The greatest thing about being a mom is the love. There’s nothing like it. The worst part is the worry. It never ends.
Which brings me to my fears. Loss is my biggest anguish. Although loss is a normal part of life — we lose our keys, hair, money, friends, jobs, our way — some of us lose our children and that’s irreparable. The loss of my oldest son keeps me up at night and it’s why I live in two worlds at once. But I would still do everything the same even if I knew having him would end with loss — I would still suffer the enormous heartbreak if I could be his mom again. And I would move time and space to make it happen.
If I were a superhero, I’d be “Improbable Girl” and my costume would be flannel pajama pants with a t-shirt. It’s not sexy or intimidating, and the name — Improbable Girl — doesn’t even have a nice ring to it.
But it suits me.
I’m not your typical superhero that accomplishes the impossible. No, my superhero alter-ego achieves the improbable. I am armed with strength to face the unlikely events and circumstances of my life and keep going. Keeping going, aka, resilience, is Improbable Girl’s biggest superpower. That, and dressing comfortably.
Which brings me to writing.
For a long time I wrote mostly in journals. I filled volumes of unlined pages but couldn’t admit out loud that I wanted to be a “real” writer. Why? Success seemed impossible. Eventually, I let writing go.
Then something amazing happened – I stopped caring about the wrong things, like fear of failure, and replaced it with a “fuck it, why not” attitude that is remarkably liberating.
Since adopting my new attitude toward writing (and life in general) I’ve been published, hired for jobs, and won awards as a blogger and screenwriter. I learned that being a writer isn’t impossible. It’s just merely improbable.
I write stories about ordinary people who summon the courage to make extraordinary changes in their lives, and illuminate how people navigate through smaller moments that are no less dramatic to them. I seek to express my character’s intimate moments, their vulnerability and flashes of insight that alter their choices.
My life experience taught me about love, loss, grief, reinvention and resilience and these are the themes I am most interested in exploring in my writing. And I hope to do it with humor and depth.
And comfortable clothes.
- Ironic parenting
- Ironic t-shirts
- Ironic dad-bods
- Ironic mom-jeans
- Binge watching
- 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.
- Irritable Bowelius Cesear — His Roman Name
- Sir Snacksalot — His Knight Name
- Hopalong Hernia — His Cowboy Name
- Appendicitis Rex — His Dinosaur Name
- Billy Poang — His IKEA Name
- Norden Ektorp — His other IKEA Name
- Toenail Talons — His Street Fighter Name
- The Amazing Belly Laugher — His Circus Performer Name
- Ex Pensive — His Rap Star Name
- Pubic Zirconia — His Stripper Name