An Instagram post by Holly Glenn Whitaker of @hipsobriety grabbed my attention a while back. She made a list of things she doesn’t do anymore, as opposed to the oft’-oppressive and always forever-replenishing to-do lists we compose for our lives and then fret over. I adored her concept and followed suit.
Here’s my latest essay, originally published by my new favorite online publication, P.S. I Love You. Their tagline is, ‘Writing from the heart. Stories about life, loss and love in the digital age.’ So I think it’s a good fit. Click on over and give me a “clap,” would ya? The more claps, the more readers, the more readers, the less lonely people in the world. That’s how I see it playing out anyway.
I read a lot of books written by women for other women. Also, a lot of female authored blogs, articles, posts, social media shout-outs and shoe descriptions on Zappos. I’ve noticed a lot of ladies I admire and respect like to write a lot about girlfriends. Specifically, how phenomenal theirs are. Like, really and truly PHENOMENAL. And something isn’t sitting right with me.
Nostalgic is what I’m feeling this Mother’s Day eve. My son was a terrible liar when he was little. His eyebrows gave him away every time. Continue reading “Those Eyebrows, Though”
I sat in my counselor’s office for the first time a few years ago. I was there because I was struggling with motherhood, bottoming out really. My husband and I have two teenagers and I often harken back to the days when they were little and all our collective problems seemed little too. For the life of me, as I look back all I can recall are the snuggles not the struggles. So hindsight is either a dirty mo-fo trickster or a benevolent and loving friend. As our kids got bigger, so did our issues and I was on her couch because my depth perception wasn’t working. Continue reading “You Say Tomato, I Say Crisis”
I understand that our God only gives us what we can handle. And that we are allowed to go through challenging circumstances that purpose to shape us and change us for the better. So apparently I can handle neck acne. I didn’t even know this was a thing, but it is, because I have it. Adult acne in traditional locations is already frustrating enough. I know because I’ve struggled with it forever. I have it under control right now for the most part, oddly enough via the use of blood pressure medication. Some smart people discovered that relief from acne was an after-market effect of a medication designed to lower blood pressure. And since I am guessing my blood pressure would have been sky-high for much of the last couple of years, I’m getting a fantastic two-fer with this stuff. But back to the point, all of a sudden I have a persistent grouping of painful and unsightly pimples that play leapfrog from side to side on my neck. This is bullshit.
It’s suggested to new bloggers that your first post tell readers why you are here and what they can expect to find in your blog. Makes good sense to me. So here goes. I am here because Glennon told me to do it. It wasn’t me. It was her. She did it.