I recently came back from a vacation that involved 55 hours of driving over six days. I only mention this because the night I got home from this so-called “vacation,” I cancelled my gym membership, ordered an elliptical trainer through amazon and vowed to never drive again. Ever. One problem: Ellipticals don’t come in one piece. Thinking of ordering one yourself?

1. Learn sign language. Two men dropped off the elliptical. English wasn’t their first language. It wasn’t their second language, either. Continue reading →

In a large glass jar, mix:

4 cups chopped ripe fresh pineapple
6 cups cheap vodka
1 cup white sugar

Shake really well (for best results, put the lid on first). Set the jar on a counter so you can admire your creation. Once each day, give the jar a few shakes to mix the ingredients, and to enjoy the snow globe-like effect.

Seven days later: 

Okay, if you’re one of those people who insists on following recipes properly, Continue reading →

The wedding went smoothly. My hair and makeup didn’t. Here’s what I learned during my recent foray as mother-of-the-bride…

Lesson #1: If you haven’t used hot rollers or a blow dryer in five years, practice before the wedding day

I’d hoped for thick, glossy hair swept up into a soft, elegant bun. That’s not what I got. I’d forgotten that blow dryers have an Incinerate setting. After five minutes of intense drying, I looked like I’d backcombed my entire head. I was the “before” picture in the conditioner ads. Continue reading →

Well, I haven’t found another mouse since my last posting (Kill Bill Volume 3: Coming Soon to a Cutlery Drawer Near You), so I thought it might be time for a little silliness. Here, I’m posting chapter 1 of my early teen novel, The Day I Washed My Face in the Toilet. If it catches your eye, and if you might consider posting a quick review on amazon (no obligation, of course!), please let me know and I’ll send you a free copy of the book. I hope this gives you a giggle. I also hope someone can explain why I can’t indent paragraphs in a blog – urgh!

Chapter 1: We call him Dementia Boy

Edward was naked, of course, except for the polka dot bandana he always wore like a mask on these special occasions. And he was using the upstairs bathroom window, this time — the puny one over the toilet — so I should have been spared the worst of the show. No such luck. By climbing on the toilet and turning his back to the window, he could press his butt against the glass, mooning me (and anyone else who happened to be looking). Then he’d crouch, spin around and wave — Dementia Boy in a polka dot mask — before starting his I’m-a-dork routine all over again.

Butt…polka dots…butt…polka dots…

If anyone discovered a drug that could cure what was wrong with my brother, they’d make millions. Continue reading →

The munchies hit, as they always do, around 8 pm last night. I shuffled into the kitchen, pulled open the cutlery drawer and reached in to grab a knife. Unfortunately, I wasn’t looking where I was reaching. One of my kids was saying something goofy in the living room, and I was busy trying to give her my best “are you kidding me?” expression through the wall.

When I grabbed the knife, a small voice in my head noted that the thing I was grabbing seemed oddly soft and warm. For a knife. Continue reading →

I miss the good old days—the days when being slammed with a double ear infection meant throwing myself on the floor and screaming in pain, while my dad warmed up the car so he could take me to the hospital, and my mom got me dressed and reassured me that I wasn’t going to die from exploding eardrums. It’s just not the same now that everyone expects me to act like a grownup. Continue reading →

Last week was cold. Really cold. Tuesday evening, one of my kids turned on the bathroom water tap and realized no water was coming out. Something was clearly wrong. You’re probably thinking this child came downstairs immediately to tell me something was wrong. Don’t be silly. Continue reading →

When I moved into this house in March, I discovered that although the previous owners had moved out, their tenants had not. Mice cannot be toilet trained, and I quickly grew tired of cleaning up their poop.

So I bought a mouse trap, filled it with peanut butter and set it beside the mouse hole in the kitchen. Yes, I have an actual mouse hole in my kitchen. Not a cute dome-shaped thing like you see in the Tom and Jerry cartoons. No, this hole is about eight inches long and one inch high, and is hidden inside the pantry. More of a mouse slit than a hole, really. Continue reading →

Remember the first time you tried to bake with the “help” of a small child? I do. I had one kid back then. A very high-energy toddler. A toddler so energetic that even a modest dose of sugar—or those freaky chemicals found in so many packaged foods—nudged her into a level of frenzy usually only seen amongst startled squirrels.

For reasons that no longer make sense to me, I decided that for our first family cooking event, we’d make rice krispies squares. Continue reading →