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A Cannibal Is Coming To Eat You

Having a teenage daughter is hardly ever dull. We have that classic Love/Hate dynamic in play right now. There is no yelling or screaming but there is creativity.  Sometimes she peers at me from around corners and doorways and hisses "I hate you....",  like the giant serpent in Harry Potter. It's too silly not to laugh. Now when she's ticked off or just annoyed,  she informs me calmly and with a straight face, of my impending demise.  "A cannibal named George is coming to eat you at 5. Please be ready." We tacitly agree that this sort of terribly aggressive acting out on her part is normal. It's a real burden. (Yes, I am being facetious). She does get furious with me about once a week or so and it's usually because I've said something in front of a friend of hers without thinking.  I can understand her frustration when these things happen. I've been cursed with foot-in-mouth disease forever. But I have learned the drill now. It is okay for...
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Why Summer Reading Sucks

For mothers,  nothing says ' a utumn'  like digging out the summer reading list.  You know--that crumpled piece of paper with a dollop of sun screen on the back side and a smidgen of melted chocolate on the front. I couldn't find it.  I didn't even look.  The library interceded on my behalf. I had bribed my son with the promise of a Mine Craft session on the PC in the young adult room upstairs while I browsed the new fiction downstairs.  When I finished checking out I went upstairs to drag him away from his diamond shovel and his creeper catcher.  That's when I saw it--a sign saying "Summer Reading Books" with a neatly organized cart in the corner with all of the summer reading books shelved by grade. There were two books--one required and one optional. He let me choose.  I chose Death Watch by Robb White for his optional book. I read this book when I was his age.  I loved it.  It's about a college student from a tiny town wh...
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Christmas On Crutches

I am sitting on couch surrounded by discarded wrapping paper, a few water glasses and a box of half-eaten chocolates. The kids are gone. They're off to their real Xmas-the one with their father, his wife, their adorable three-year old half-brother, their step-brother, aunt, uncle and cousin. Dinner will be fabulous. Step-Mom is a wonderful cook. Aunt D will bring her famous spinach balls and noodle kugel. It's a wonderful holiday tradition for them. They would disagree lovingly with my description of their Xmas with me as less than "real". They say it's small but no less important. This year it was smaller than usual as I've been on crutches since last Wednesday. I fell down the stairs carrying what we all recognize as a "mother lode". I was balancing a laptop top, several dirty plates mined from my daughter's room, a set of clothes for my son, and a couple of glasses from his man cave. But the most dangerous element turned out to be the aged ...
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