Category Archives: Health

20 Things To Be Thankful For in 2020

I’ve been reading a lot of pretty mom blogs lately. You know, those blogs written by moms with shiny hair and actual fruit bowls on their tables? (Filled with fruit they actually eat.) The moms who have probably never told their preschooler “oh, bite me” as a rebuttal during an argument. (She won, by the way.) The moms who actually earn money from their writing? (Dirty accusing glare to all the people not reading this.) 

And right now, all the pretty mom blogs are doing a “what I’m thankful for” post. All of which have some version of this sentence: “This year, perhaps more than any other year, it’s important to focus on what matters most in life and remember that we should be thankful for these things, not just on Thanksgiving day, but every day.” 

Pfft. LAME. 

However, they’re not wrong. This has been a rough year for all of us. So maybe it couldn’t hurt to focus on what really matters, even though it goes against the very most basic core of my entire personality. 

And thus, I present, the 20 things I’m thankful for in 2020.

  1. My health. Which is good. Despite my body being composed mostly of coffee and whiskey.
  2. My husband and our two wonderful children. They mean everything to me. It’s so nice to have everyone home all the time, working and learning remotely. And I mean, all the time. All the time. ALL. THE. TIME. And even though the little one threatened to kill me the other day (it was veiled but it was definitely a death threat) we couldn’t be closer. So close. All the close. 
  3. A roof over my head. And it doesn’t even leak. And below that roof are walls and floors. Filled with mice. City mice. Who will never leave because nothing scares them and they are much, much smarter than we are. Although I haven’t ruled out making them chip in for rent.
  4. My dog, Buffy. Who at 15 is alive and healthy(-ish) and still loves to go on walks. I know you’re expecting me to say something snarky here about him but honestly, what kind of monster makes fun of a beloved elderly dog that has been a constant companion and who has farts so rancid they make rotten eggs smell appetizing. 
  5. Nature. Majestic, beautiful nature. So majestic and beautiful that I don’t even mind the mountains of Claritin I have to snort like cocaine every morning in order to step outside.
  6. Technology. For all it has done, especially during this pandemic, but mostly because it has allowed me to lock myself in the attic and have happy hour over Zoom with my friends while my children wail and bang on the door. 
  7. Speaking of which, my friends, both near and far. All of whom don’t bat an eye when my humor goes to a dark, dark place. 
  8. The sound of my children’s laughter. 
  9. The sound of my children sleeping.
  10. The sound of my husband yelling at my children because they won’t listen to me.  
  11. Wine.
  12. Did I say coffee yet?
  13. Food. Because it’s good. I don’t know. I’m losing steam. Twenty is a big number. 
  14. Oh! Peace. That’s a thing that’s always on these lists, right?
  15. Deep fried stuffing balls. They are the best thing I’ve ever created in my life (my kids coming in at a really close second though). 
  16. Alton Brown’s Thanksgiving turkey recipe. 
  17. Alton Brown.
  18. Oceans. They’re super cool. 
  19. That 2020 is slowly marching toward its death. 
  20. All y’all. The ones who read these ridiculous things week after week. And on purpose, no less. Thank you, truly, from the bottom of the pit where my heart should be. 

Kitchen confidential

Due to my position as a feral housewife who writes about her family, I am often asked by people what advice I’d give to someone who was unsure about having children.  

OK, technically no one asks me that question but it seemed like a good opener and I have been itching to use the phrase “feral housewife” ever since I encountered it on a random Internet meme. But if someone DID ask me this question, my answer would be this: 

Are you ready to make three meals a day, every day, for probably the rest of your life, only to have each of those meals verbally eviscerated by tiny personal versions of Gordon Ramsay? No? Then get you a dog and prepare to live a happy, peaceful life. 

If yes, my sincerest apologies in advance. I recommend stocking up on boxed wine and designating a drawer in your fridge as your “stress cheese” drawer now before you even get started. 

See, no one warned me and my husband that children expect to eat all the time. Nor that they also hate any and all food. Oh sure, our friends and family might have mentioned their children were “picky” eaters but we, in our sweet, innocent naivety, didn’t realize “picky” is code for “eats three things but not really even those things.” For example, my children only eat chicken nuggets, macaroni and cheese, and fish sticks (but not THAT kind of fish sticks, the other kind). Oh wait, sorry, they also say they like pizza. Except they don’t really like pizza. My first grader only eats the crusts and my preschooler makes me scrape off all the toppings and sauce so she can eat the dough underneath. Because they are monsters. 

Adding insult to injury were all the parenting books we read (ok, the one parenting book we kind of skimmed) that insisted family mealtimes are of the utmost importance for a child’s development without ever once mentioning that the majority of those family mealtimes would be spent arguing over how the pasta smells gross and the meatloaf looks like dog poop. 

Then there’s all those pesky doctors insisting on the importance of children eating a varied diet full of different vitamins and nutrients in order to be healthy. LIES. All of it. My children are somehow still thriving and with a seemingly endless supply of energy despite not knowing the difference between a tomato and a watermelon. 

They don’t even have scurvy and I’m pretty sure they should have scurvy by now. My daughter licked an apple six months ago and it’s the only vitamin C she’s had since. I’m not saying science is wrong. I’m a big believer in science. I’m just saying that while man cannot live on bread alone, little boys apparently can because science simply cannot compete with the stubbornness of children. 

I used to enjoy cooking, you know? I found it calming and at the same time creative. I found a quiet joy in chopping and a contentment in coming up with new menu ideas. A chef transforming ingredients into life sustaining works of art for the people she loved.

But now? I am merely a sweaty, red-faced short order cook, taking the same orders in a gruff manner day after day and barking out names of dishes for my husband to whisk away to our unhappy regulars.

It’s exhausting. 

Perhaps that’s why it all came to a head a few nights ago. Maybe that’s why after enduring meal after meal greeted with that same look of disgust and disappointment on their faces, I lost it. Or possibly those selfish little picky weasels had it coming. 

Whatever it was, I snapped. Over an hour making dinner from scratch, all of which was greeted with groans and anger. ANGER. They didn’t just not like my food, they were angry I would even present it to them. 

So I did the scariest thing a mom on the edge could do. I swallowed my own rage and looked coolly at them. Then, in my calmest voice, I said…

“Fine.”

And their dinner went into the trash can. 

Dramatic, sure. But not if you view it in context. That context being my first instinct was to throw open the window and hurl the plates even more dramatically through it. 

Oh, you should have heard it. The howling, the wailing. How could I do that?! What will we eat now!? We were going to eat it, we swear! Can you make us something else?

To which I answered, easy, nothing, don’t care, nope. 

Now, I’m not naive enough to think that this little episode will change much of anything. But when it comes down to it, that’s not the point. The point is it felt really, really good and I’m smiling even now as I type this and remember the look of horror on their little faces. 

And now I can go back into the kitchen with a bit more serenity, a bit more of the old me who loved cooking. Because should they keep complaining, I still have my “dramatically throws food out the window” bit. Then, after that the roof. Eventually I could hire a crane and drop the plates from there. 

The possibilities are endless, really. 

Ode to the Mystery Bruise

Oh, Mystery Bruise

There you are, yet again

And there have you always been 

For at least as long as I can remember

Which, granted, isn’t that long

Ever since my memory was obliterated by the incessant demands

Of tiny, adorable humans 

They who sprung loudly from my loins

Ginger haired and exhausting

My mind now filled to capacity 

Each and every day

With tasks both mundane and material 

That are involved when raising juveniles not quite yet delinquent

Big. Purple. With a hint of bluish tint

Ringed by an unholy yellow 

You loudly announce your presence, oh, Mystery Bruise

With every disrobement 

With every bathroom trip

There was a time when my thigh was flawless

(Stubble notwithstanding)

Oh, twas a sight, ye youthful femur o’ mine

Alas, now the top of that ham 

Is the heart and hearth of your home

Oh, Mystery Bruise 

Whenceforth you came? Why do you stay?

I have heard tale of your existence in others

On the side of the hip

Or the shinny shin shin

Enfolding the feminine forces in this world

Who already fight all kinds of unseen battles 

Every day, and every sleepless night, and every in-between

Yet your mystery grows, Mystery Bruise

Your origin a puzzle wrapped in an enigma

Smothered in a conundrum and sprinkled with mild violence  

Did it happen when a toddler used my body as a trampoline?

Or when a preschooler made of all points

Used me as their amusement park?

Are you the result of that stupid end table

I keep running into?

Or perhaps from that time I bumped into the steps while running to stop the children from hitting each other

With actual weapons? 

Is it all the bile rising up to the surface from all the curse words I swallowed?

Or from all the screams I buried down deep

Each and every time they howled how they hated me

Because the grilled cheese had the wrong cheese?

(As if any cheese any time any place could ever be wrong)

Is it the homeless ink from every lost chapter I never wrote

Because as soon as they see the laptop they lay across me like pampered cats?

Or mayhap you are just a reminder that I am human, Mystery Bruise

And not just a mother

That I am not merely put on this Earth for their every whim and desire

The point is, oh, most mystifying of contusions

You’ve always been there for me

Rarely changing

Just staring up at me every time I shower 

A constant and only slightly concerning presence in a chaos-filled world 

A reminder of some permanence in an ever shifting reality

Or maybe you are simply a visible representation

Of the bruises concealed in my heart

Your mottled surface itself an ode to the mysteries of the soul

An ever-present monument of why we love and fight so hard  

No matter the reason, nor the cause

I want to thank you, oh Mystery Bruise

For always being there

Which I believe I already mentioned

But you’ll have to forgive me, for it has been a rough week

Of Remote Schooling

Of Life

Of 2020

And of simply being stretched too thin

Which is why I am hiding in the bathtub with my computer

A little (lot) drunk and singing your praises

Because you are here and yet need nothing from me

Oh, Mystery Bruise, your silence speaks volumes  

The Unprecedented

Salutations, precious scions. 

I am writing this to you from the distant past. My greatest wish is that it reaches you one day. That the Internet, for all its immeasurable beauty and hideous flaws, still exists. Although only Amazon knows what will happen between now and then. 

Where to start? Perhaps the beginning. 

Another morning dawns. Gentle purple receding from the open wound of pink as tides of orange begin flowing in on a sea of puffy pillows. If there is one thing in The Unprecedented that hasn’t changed it’s how beautifully a day can start. It’s almost enough to make up for the fact that the rest of the day will be just like all the others.

Almost.

In our Quadrant, the disease threat has lowered significantly but is ever looming. We are still in the earliest stages of Limited Phase 3. Restrictions abound. Face Coverings are still required. Droplet has become a dirty word. 

We try to make the best of it, however. My mask is flamboyant and covered in sequins. On the Hard Days, I secretly pretend I am a superhero. Captain Extra. Why not? Fun is in short supply here in The Unprecedented. It’s important to steal joy whenever we can. 

They have finally allowed us to consume some of our rations at the Eating Houses, although only in the Outside Zone. Many have rejoiced at this development but this has slowed down the neighborhood Banana Bread and Sourdough Black Market. No one has dropped off an extra loaf on the porch in weeks. I suppose it was inevitable. After all these months, baking can no longer compete with the allure of Doom Scrolling on our devices. 

The Libraries have also opened albeit in Limited Capacity. If you stand in the Outside Zone, the Blessed Ones will gather the books you desire and place your Bag of Knowledge within the appropriate Social Distance Sector for you to pick up once they have retreated back within the safety of the doors. This small gift from the Re-Opening Committee is like a breath of fresh air when one is drowning. 

The Remote Learning begins soon. The Educators have exhausted themselves preparing, faced with an impossible task. They are most noble, rising above and beyond and then beyond some more. Although I confess if I never come across the phrase “student log-in information” again it will be too soon. Cursed be thy passwords.

Those of us tasked with the homeside of Remote Learning have made a silent pact that Happy Hour will be whenever it is needed. We shall let the boxed wine flow unimpeded by the morality of who we were in the year of Two Thousand And Nineteen. Time and Units of Alcohol have become utterly meaningless in The Unprecedented.  

Some of the people have begun forming Pods. Humans, now and forever more, are social animals. It is much needed, especially for The Small Ones, who have turned feral and have begun rejecting pants.  

I confess, there are days when it all seems much too bleak. I do not know where we would be if we couldn’t turn to the Narrative Visual Arts for comfort. All hail the Streaming Services! Praise be to Hulu! 

It is uncertain if we shall ever return to living in precedented times, but, lo, through the swirling maelstrom of this accursed New Normal, we humans still manage to adjust. Adapt. Evolve. Just like we always have. It is this thought, late at night, when the Insomnia strikes again, that brings a small measure of comfort. The thought I cling to as though to a dream, while images hazy with the mists of nostalgia begin wafting up from my subconscious. 

Of the Before Times.  

Back when Personal Space was something one took for granted, not something that was bitterly fought for and doled out like currency among one’s own family. Back when we worshipped such frivolous things as precious metals, instead of the life-giving force of Alone Time. The utter bliss of an Empty House. Only in The Unprecedented could Working Remotely be both a blessing and a curse. 

Such fools we mortals are. To not appreciate what we had while we had it. In another timeline, one that had not descended into its darkest depths, I would be forcing my Small Ones to brush their teeth right now and stuffing them into their Before Times clothes. Ones with actual buttons and zippers, instead of the ill-fitting mixed textile sacks we have grown accustomed to. My Quarantine Partner would be heading to work in the Away From Here while I walked the offspring to School. Then I would head to the Local Coffeeshop up the hill, for a pastry and a giant coffee and cloth-free conversations with friends.

But now. 

Now. 

There is no danish. Only Zoom. 

Alas, I regret nothing. It has to be done. To protect the Vulnerable Ones.

In the end, let it be known there is still hope. There is always hope. If there wasn’t, I would not be writing this to you now. Humor is our preservation and Compassion is our weapon. After so much Devastation, I only desire, above all, that We can get our Shit together enough so that You, the future generations, may thrive.

Pandemically yours, 

Your Great Elder, 

A’rill Brandolor

This girl is on fire

I always assumed I would have an arch nemesis someday. My personality kind of demands it. Obviously it would be someone who was cool and awesome, someone worthy of battling a badass antihero with a heart of gold such as myself. But also clearly someone with less wit and less awesome hair. 

Imagine my surprise, then, when my arch nemesis turned out to be the sun. 

Oh yeah. Let’s talk about polymorphic light eruption, kids. First, of course, by discussing what polymorphic light eruption sounds like:

A mildly successful electro pop duo.

A phrase shouted out by the Power Rangers. 

Part of a convoluted plot in a sci-fi novel.

How forest fires on distant planets start. 

What pretentious yet smart people call volcanic activity. 

A cool space thing NASA discovered that you hear at the end of the morning news segment. 

A horrifying space thing NASA discovered that you hear at the beginning of the morning news segment. 

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Now let’s discuss what polymorphic light eruption actually is:

Stupid people who develop a stupid allergy to the stupid sun out of nowhere.

It started last spring. I thought it was a fluke but then it happened again this year. It normally appears on the chest or the arms but I am one of the super lucky rare ones where I get the rash on my face. You know “Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark”? The scene where they open the ark of the covenant and it melts that Nazi’s face off? I’m like that dude three seconds into the scene but without the relief of my face ever actually melting off. Or of the sweet, sweet release of eventual death. I just have to sit here with my giant face rash, all red and itchy and poofy and on fire, and continue to act like a human. The good news is that after the rash goes away, which it only does if I avoid the sun for two weeks, it will likely come roaring back whenever I am exposed to the sun again. The even better news is that this will now likely happen every spring and summer until I die.

There aren’t charity runs for this skin disease. Probably because it’s mild and none of us who have it can be outside in the sun that long anymore. There is no cure and not much in the way of treatment. Probably because the universe is cruel and unfair and dumb and stupid.  

It just really, really sucks and makes summer suck. Especially this summer. The summer of 2020, which was going SO WELL ANYWAY. 

I love two things (besides my children and husband and fried cheese and blah, blah, blah). Those two things are running and going to the beach. Two things that are all the more important during this crap show of a year, since they are two things I can do outside and, as long as I avoid popular spots, without many people around. They are also, of course, two things that make it almost impossible to avoid the sun. 

So, at this point, all I have left to say is, nice try, sun. And nice try, 2020. But you will not defeat me. 

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Oh no. No matter how many murder hornets, chicken sandwich wars, global pandemics, quarantines, racists, bigots, homophobics, sexists, economy crashes, vaccine conspiracy theories, entire continents burning, World War III threats, armed protesters demanding haircuts, actual alien footage, “Tiger King” documentaries you throw out. And no matter how much you turn my personal life into that level in Super Mario Bros. 3 where the angry cartoon sun is literally trying to kill you.  

You. Will. Not. Defeat. Me. 

And do you know why? Because humans are nothing if not adaptable. That is what we do best, in fact. That is why we are survivors.

We adapt. 

So I will sit inside with my volcano face and I will keep writing and I will do my daily run at 4 a.m. to avoid the stupid murderous sun. And I will go to the beach. You hear me? I’m going to the beach and I will dress like Morticia Addams and I will totally pull the look off. And I’m going to snag bits and pieces of happiness whenever possible. I’m going to love what I should love more and ignore what I should ignore more and speak up against what is wrong more and support those who need my support right now. 

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Because I will not be defeated this year. Eight months into this horrific dystopian future and I now eat disappointment and threats of World War III for breakfast. 

Better luck next year. 

 

Box Spring Hot Box

It was the title that came first. It floated up from the mysterious depths of my sleep deprived brain, like a phoenix rising from the ashes of a terrible night. 

Or arose like a zombie. That wanted to eat my brain. Was eating my brain. Or something. 

I’m so tired. 

Anyway, the point is. What is the point? Oh, right. The point is I know what you’re thinking. What is up with that title? It’s a funny story actually. It was the title that came first. 

Wait, I already said that.

OK. Where was I? There I was, trapped for hours, trapped in a hell of my own making, when it came to me. 

Box Spring Hot Box.

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Heh. That’s really funny, I thought to myself. Although now that I’m writing this, it’s not quite as clever as it sounded at 3 a.m. It’s mildly amusing at best. But if I change it now then I have to rewrite the whole beginning and no one is really going to read this anyway except my mom so…moving on. 

What is a box spring hot box, you ask? Well, it started out fine. Sweet even. A tale as old as sleep. I was gently nudged out of a deep slumber by the horrifying sensation that a presence near me was breathing heavily. My eyelids fluttered open to behold an extra from Stephen King’s “Children of the Corn” staring at me. Confusingly, this tiny devil mumbled something about having a nightmare and so I resisted the urge to dropkick the creepy face long enough to wipe the sleep out of my eyes and realize the monster was my own child. 

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So I let him crawl into bed with us. Just for a minute, I said sternly, both of us knowing that I am a gigantic liar, lair, stained pajama pants on fire. 

So he hopped on up, laying on top of the covers and immediately taking up more real estate than was necessary for a 45-pound body. Meanwhile I scooched closer to my husband, who was blissfully snoring away on my other side, the covers wrapped around him like a tortilla. Meanwhile meanwhile, the dog, disturbed by all this commotion, sighed exasperatedly and scooched over as well, moving to lay at the bottom of my feet. 

It was nice at first. Cozy. For a moment I even started to think I understood why all those hippies insist the entire family sleep in the same bed. I was surrounded by love. 

And body heat. I was surrounded by all the body heat. Why was everyone giving off so much heat? Who decided 98.6 degrees is a reasonable number? It’s a ridiculous temperature for a human body. Why can’t we all be a balmy 77? 

It was hot. So bloody hot. And I was trapped under the covers. I tried squirming out but was blocked by the headboard. The dog was blocking the southern exit and there was also the irrational fear that I would get stuck midway and end up roasted to death, cooked by my very own family.  

Why didn’t I just wake one of them up, I hear you asking. Well, well, well, aren’t we just FULL of questions today. 

Sorry. I’m a bit cranky. I don’t know if you heard but I didn’t get much sleep last night. 

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Anyway, waking up either my son or husband so that I could crawl out would have been the logical thing to do. Hence the problem. You’re talking logic. Logic at an illogical time during an illogical year. And, let’s face it, with a ridiculous specimen of a woman. 

To my credit, I did briefly flirt with the idea of waking one of them up. Actually, I was so hot I downright seduced the idea of shoving them onto the floor full force just to feel fresh air on my body again. But then I looked over at my loud snoring burrito, who had been working round the clock from home for months. Stressed and exhausted. Then I turned my head to look at my very own Vitruvian Man, just splayed out in all his tiny glory, who has been struggling with a world that doesn’t make sense and nightmares of Mommy and Daddy getting sick. Even the hellhound at my feet, even if I was willing to crawl out that way, is about to turn 15. He’s been such a good boy, even though his hips hurt and we kept bringing babies home from the hospital without ever once consulting him. 

They all deserved sleep. Peaceful sleep. Or so it seemed in my muddled mind at 3 a.m. 

So I lay in my box spring hot box for the rest of the night. Alternating between analyzing my latest dream (playing basketball with Brad Pitt, where he kept making baskets by throwing the ball from behind his back all while discussing the writing of James Agee, whom I have never read) and replaying every embarrassing moment from junior high (which are numerous and still not funny to me yet). 

Then, like a rainbow after the storm, my husband grunted and farted and I knew the long night had ended. I would soon be free. He was a mere yawn and unselfconscious scratch away from being awake. 

And the point to all this is…

What is the point? There is a point. I came up with it somewhere around paragraph three. I need more coffee. Oh yes, the point is, I yelled at my kids today. For picking their noses and not cleaning their rooms like I asked. I was snippy with my husband, who made the mistake of standing there. I even had a very stern talking to with the dog who keeps aggressively shedding. 

And so the point is I wrote this to let them all know how much I love them. Even when I’m cranky and tired and yelling. Love comes out in many different and often strange ways. Ways like staying up half the night because you just want the ones you love to find as much peace as possible in this world. 

Although next time, I think I’ll just kick one of them to the floor and show them my love by getting a good night’s sleep myself. 

39 Things I’ve Learned in 39 Years

 

  1. As it turns out, living through interesting times really is a curse.
  2. Living through interesting times, however, means you are very happy to make it to your next birthday.
  3. Anything can be a breakfast food. The only limit is our imagination. 
  4. My husband looks really hot as Grizzly Adams. 
  5. I look less hot as Grizzly Adams. 
  6. Money can’t buy happiness. But it can buy useless, random crap off Amazon when you’re stuck at home during a global pandemic. 
  7. Speaking of which, roller skating is not like riding a bike. You don’t just automatically remember how to do it, which is awful when you’re trying to justify drunkenly buying roller skates on Amazon. 
  8. Spending quality time with family is the most important thing there is. Until it is the only thing there is. Then secretly eating a beef burrito in the bathtub becomes pretty important too. 
  9. I now know why my dog runs to the window and barks anytime he sees a single human being. Or another dog. Or a leaf. 
  10. Children are strong. 
  11. Children are resilient.
  12. Children better stop rolling their eyes at me every time I tell them to brush their teeth. 
  13. Yes, you have to use toothpaste.
  14. Teachers are mystical unicorn warriors and they deserve all the money and jewels and exotic oils for putting up with our children. 
  15. No matter how many times you are forced to watch “Frozen II,” it won’t kill you. You think it will. But it won’t. 
  16. Ditto “Moana.”
  17. Ditto “Toy Story 4.”
  18. Forts are still fun, no matter what your age. 
  19. Dance parties in the living room are still fun, no matter what your age. 
  20. It’s ok to like how the “Star Wars” saga ended even if no one else did. 
  21. It’s ok to hate how “Game of Thrones” ended because everyone did. 
  22. One way to get rid of a dead body is to feed it to your tigers. 
  23. Uncertainty isn’t always bad. Uncertainty is the soil where change can start to sprout. Or something like that. I don’t know. 
  24. My family is composed of a toxic mix of sore losers and sore winners and really poor spectators. 
  25. Level 8 of Super Mario Bros. 3 is a dystopian hellscape and it’s stupid and no one can pass it and I hate it and it’s dumb. 
  26. Twister is a young woman’s game. 
  27. It’s never ok to cheat unless you’ve been playing Go Fish for an hour and your 3-year-old keeps holding her cards the wrong way and you just need the game to end. 
  28. Ditto Old Maid.
  29. Ditto Candyland.
  30. If you’re going to call someone essential and a hero, they deserve to make a living wage. 
  31. I think I say this every year on this list but I feel it bears repeating. Nazis are bad. Always. No exceptions. 
  32. Speak up and fight for what is right. 
  33. Teach your kids to speak up and fight for what is right.
  34. Boxed wine is less judgmental than bottled wine. Boxed wine doesn’t care how many glasses you have. 
  35. Life is too short to read mediocre books.
  36. Life is just long enough to binge watch all seven seasons of “Parks and Recreation” again.
  37. You can never tell people you love them too much. 
  38. It’s ok to ask for help. 
  39. Never give up. There is always the chance that this all turns out alright. That we overcome everything history has been throwing at us and we fix the world and we become the next greatest generation. That many years from now we will tell our grandchildren “back in my day, we ate murder hornets for breakfast, kid.”

In These Uncertain Times

Hey, want a fun 2020 drinking game? Take a shot every time you read an article that includes the phrase “in these uncertain times.” I’ll help you get started. 

In these uncertain times (drink!), I am constantly torn between making every effort to stay as healthy as I possibly can and saying screw all of this, the world is on the brink of disaster, let’s burn it down. It, of course, meaning my physical, mental and emotional health. 

Because on one hand, the best thing I can do, the smartest thing, the most logical, to survive and to thrive in these uncertain times (hey-oh!) is to get my body and mind in top shape. Which is why I go for daily runs every morning. It keeps my body strong but more importantly, I can escape my family for a few brief shining moments. 

And then I come back and log onto Facebook for five minutes where I’m immediately like, hey, let’s make this coffee Irish. The world is a madhouse. 

But maybe it won’t always be, I tell myself after throwing my cell phone across the room. So I make a healthy breakfast. This too shall pass, you know?

Yup, it’ll pass right up until the planet dies from global warming, I also tell myself, because sometimes I am just the worst in these uncertain times (bottoms up). Which is when my breakfast magically turns into all the leftover fried chicken from last night. 

No, no, I have to stay positive. If nothing else then for my children’s sake. They’re so young and innocent. The world can still be a beautiful place, right? A beautiful place that everyone wants to go out in and stand way too close to each other, forgoing any kind of protection, so that there is another spike in Covid-19 this fall and they cancel school and I’m still stuck with my kids all day and someone bring me a carton of cigarettes and whatever the hell that drug Molly is. 

Slow down, slow down. The key word here in these uncertain times (you’re welcome) is “uncertain.” No one knows what’s going to happen. We can make educated guesses and we can make smart decisions and we can listen to the scientists. We can keep calm and carry on. “Uncertain” doesn’t necessarily have to mean bad. I was once uncertain about my husband when I first met him. And it turns out he’s an amazing human being whom I love dearly even though he currently looks like Grizzly Adams and I haven’t seen him in three days despite the fact he is working from home because he’s working 14 hour days to help out his company in these uncertain times (hell, take two, I’ll join you). 

At least this is a way to slow down. Smell the roses. Take walks and have picnics with my family. Although all this isolation is clearly having a negative effect on my 3-year-old who is full-on turning into Jack from “The Shining.” All family and no friends makes Mae a dull girl. She’s named a toy knife she got in a kitchen set last Christmas “Stabby” and has started carrying it on her at all times. She’s definitely going to murder us. Or need years of therapy. Or both. 

So, you know what? Carpe diem, baby. Which is a fancy way of saying I’ve never tried cocaine but I think I might like it. And if there ever was a time for a 38-year-old mom to try it, 2020 would be it, yeah? 

Except no. Right? Because the world is not ending. Things are bad, sure, but nothing we can’t bounce back from. Also I don’t even know where to get cocaine. And according to 80’s movies you have to snuff it up your nose and that sounds horrid.

Maybe I’ll just take a depression nap. That lasts for five days. 

Hey, remember back when we were in certain times, you know, when our biggest worry was just nuclear war and vast corruption and rampant racism and sexism? It’s great that those are still there too underneath all the fun new 2020 stuff. 

Sigh. In these uncertain times. 

The point is, none of us know the future. But it does look bleak currently. But throughout history, bleak is when we humans shine the hardest. But you never know. But we are nothing without hope. But we are on the brink of destruction. But I want to see my great grandchildren and have them call me Gam Gam 

So, in these uncertain times, I salute you. All of us. We’ll get through this together. Because there is no other choice. Together or not at all. 

In these uncertain times. In these uncertain times. In these uncertain times. 

Cheers. 

How I Spent My Spring Quarantine

 

How I Spent My Spring Quarantine

By Aprill Brandon

During my spring quarantine, my family and I went to a lot of places. It was neat. My favorite place was the back porch. We blew bubbles. We drew lots and lots of chalk drawings too. We ate snacks out there. There were a lot of snacks. Doritos were my favorite. I got to eat a whole bag all by myself! The kids drank lots of root beer. The parents were allowed to drink wine whenever they wanted no matter what time it was because there are no rules anymore. 

We also traveled to the front yard. We blew bubbles and did more chalk drawings. I drew a naughty stick figure on the sidewalk but my husband covered it up. He is lame sometimes. I drank wine from a coffee mug because more people can see us in the front yard. One day we saw our neighbor, Shanna. All four of us started excitedly shouting at her at the same time. We hadn’t seen many people since March. She looked scared. 

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After that we tried playing soccer in our yard. But then we remembered that none of us like soccer because it is stupid. 

We also did a lot of cool things inside. We learned to play the card games “Go Fish” and “War.” It was fun. Then my children started fighting and calling each other cheaters. Which was so dumb. I was the one cheating. My husband says that is wrong. He is so lame. 

My kids also learned how to climb everything inside the house. I worried a lot that they would get hurt. They told me they would not get hurt. I was tired so I said ok.  

I hung out in the attic a lot. I told my family I was “writing” in my makeshift office. But really I was watching “Stranger Things” and reading Stephen King books. I ate a lot of snacks up there.

Sometimes we would get bored during quarantine. One time, when we were bored, we played Twister. I heard something in my knee go pop! Now it hurts to walk up stairs. My husband says I need to be careful because I am 38. He’s so lame. I’m not going to let him borrow the roller skates I ordered off Amazon when I was drunk even if he asks really, really nicely. 

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Another time I was bored I cut my own bangs. Everyone said I shouldn’t. But I did. My face looks crooked now. My friend Cara D. said she liked them though. 

One time we were so bored I let the kids do finger painting. It made a huge mess. The kids were happy but I was sad. They did not help clean up at all. My son’s teacher told me my feelings were valid. She is a nice lady. 

I think our dog is bored too. One day he pooped in the middle of the living room. It was gross. Then he did it again the next day. I think he wants us all out of his house. Probably because we are loud and won’t share our Doritos with him. 

We watched so many movies during spring quarantine. We also fought over which movies to watch a lot. I usually won because I am the bossiest. 

We also got to eat in the living room in front of the TV a lot, which was super neat. We ate a lot of cool things, like pizza topped with french fries and mozzarella sticks, and pizza that had barbecued chicken on it. If I could I would eat pizza for every meal. It is my favorite food. My husband says we have to feed the kids fruit occasionally. I wish he wasn’t so lame sometimes. 

Things are very different now but some things are ok. My husband wears his robe to work every day. It makes him happy. Although sometimes he yells the Big Curse Words at the computer. 

I wear my pajamas every day too. So do the kids. We also yell the Big Curse Words at each other but no one hears us so it is ok. I love my family. Especially after drinking wine and eating snacks. 

In conclusion, I had a great time on my spring quarantine. But I would not want to do it again. Except the pizza part. 

The End. 

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It’s been a mother of a year

Hey, you know how every year us mothers significantly lower our expectations when it comes to Mother’s Day? How every year you all just skate by on your adorableness, doing the bare minimum? It’s only Mom, afterall. She’s so grateful for anything and everything. Her love is completely unconditional. 

Well, not this year, you filthy urchins. There are now conditions. 

Oh sure, when you were born we played the saintly martyr when you kept us up all night, every night. We faced the fact you wouldn’t let us eat a single hot meal for an entire year with gentle stoicism. And we showed incredible grace and restraint by not throwing you out the window the first time you screamed “I HATE YOU” into our faces. 

We did all that because we love you. And you’re amazing. And we’d die for you. 

But this is 2020, you little wretches. We are done being humble and doting and noble. There is no more “oh, it’s enough of a gift just to be your mom.” It’s not. Not even close. We have spent two months stuck inside this house with you. Two VERY LONG months. With no sleepovers at Memaw’s house, no daycares or schools, no playdates, no library storytime, no playgrounds to give us even one tiny bittersweet gasp of freedom. There is only the constant drowning in your endless waves of needs and demands in a house that is growing more ramshackled by the day. 

Time to step it up, you bitty hellions.  

First things first, do not try to pass yourself off as charmingly incompetent and present us with burnt toast and water mixed with coffee grounds for breakfast. Here’s “Mastering the Art of French Cooking” by Julia Child. Careful, it’s heavy. Now start studying. That hollandaise sauce better make us cry tears of joy. 

Speaking of studying, your report card is one big lie. You are far from a delight in class. Which is why the card you give us this year better contain a heartfelt three page letter about how friggin’ gorgeous and phenomenal we are, which you will hand deliver to us on a silver tray that also contains a Bloody Mary. 

While we are on the subject of food and drink, you always want to be fed. Note we did not say “want to eat.” Note we did not say “always hungry.” No, you want to be fed. You want us to make you something. 

Well, guess what we want? 

A swimming pool. 

Start digging. 

And no, we will not watch you dig. A full one third of our lives is now devoted to “hey, mom watch this!” and then watching this. It doesn’t matter if we’re cooking, or if we’re showering, or if we’re on fire. We must watch. We must watch and then watch again and again, every time acting just as delighted as the first time you jumped off the couch and onto the couch cushion. 

Which is why we’re gonna need a life-sized chocolate sculpture of ourselves. 

Then there is the issue of the farts. We have smelled all your farts. All of them. On a constant rotating basis. There is just a constant low hanging miasma of fart essence wherever we go in this house because there is nowhere else for you to fart. So there’s tiny baby farts and gross boy farts and gigantic dad farts and ancient unholy dog farts, all mingling together and creating horrifying new scents. 

Buy us our own island. 

Oh, you can’t afford to buy us our own island? Well, we are the sounding board for every single thought that crosses everyone’s mind. We don’t get to have our own thoughts anymore because we’re too busy listening to all of yours. So you best find someone to bankroll this entire operation. No one’s cuteness is getting them out of this. We are on Week Eight of this crap. Ain’t no one cute around here anymore. 

We moms have not only kept this household going in a global pandemic, but, more importantly, have kept everyone from killing each other. We are freaking warrior goddesses. 

BUY US AN ARMORED UNICORN TO RIDE ON. 

So, in conclusion, we love you all so much. More than life itself. You are the best thing to ever happen to us. Don’t mess this up or we’re setting your room on fire.