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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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Vacation with Kids=Military Intelligence

I am leaving tomorrow for a brief vacation with my little darlings. We are going to the mountains to see friends and to swim, and to make our annual attempt to get up on water skis. (My attempts to water ski resemble those horrifying videos of prisoners at Guantanamo experiencing a form of torture called "water-boarding" but my pal says I'm exaggerating. Maybe.) My kids are fairly excited about our trip to the mountains but as always they are much, much more excited about their upcoming vacation adventure with their father. He's taking them for a week to one of those crowded places on the shore with big waves and wall to wall souvenir shops. They'll play mini-golf, eat lots of fried foods and come home with tacky tee shirts and hundreds of dollars worth of plastic souvenirs. Most of these highly treasured little tributes to capitalism will have sharp edges or come in tiny little collections. The first three days I will hear a constant chorus of "Hey, where...
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