Today is my last day to be 36.
I remember turning 36 a year ago. Greg bought me coral Kate Middleton jeans and we went to Cafe Terrace for strawberry-nutella crepes. I was glowing because I was a few weeks pregnant. We grilled margherita pizzas for dinner and I made a list in my red notebook that night itemizing what I needed to do to the house to fit a baby in it.
Sunday, May 12, 2013 at 12:55AM 
I will admit that I can’t watch the Reverend Mother sing “Climb Every Mountain” to Julie Andrews without crying. This is only true for my adult tear ducts. I thought her song mimicked one of those warbling bird-shaped water whistles when I was a critical youngster.
Stately and wise in her old age, I love Reverend Mother’s classy wrinkles and the yellow, leaded glass window behind her singing profile. Every time the scene ends my Grinch heart grows three sizes and I silently scream to myself empowering phrases like, “I can ford streams! I love chasing rainbows! I AM NOT AFRAID OF CLIMBING ALL THE WAY TO SWITZERLAND!”
Tuesday, May 7, 2013 at 10:53AM 
#isthisthebestwecando
First there were Adam and Eve and they worked side by side actually speaking to one another. There was music and oral tradition and eventually a written language for most. Papyrus. Parchment. Records of worth passed down for generations. Quills and ink and wax seals. Correspondence increased with equine delivery and postmaster generals. Brown paper packages tied up with string. Movable type changed the world. Typewriters. Computers were invented and the sentence remained in tact. Email and billpay zapped the need for stamps. Long distance is long gone and we now bridge geographic gaps with devices that fit in one’s hand. Texting corrupted spelling and twitter has killed punctuation as well as the space bar. I don’t know how much more I can handle, me being an envelope-loving check writer that has never used her debit card. Don't even get me started on e-vites. I demand that we stop all this “progress.”
Tuesday, April 30, 2013 at 4:55PM 
Earlier this year RE came home from school with a shadow across her face. My motherly instincts spotted it a mile away. After a little verbal finesse I was able to ascertain why her day stunk so bad. She was picked last in kickball.
My own non-fictional montage of PE nightmares instantly began spooling through my mind’s eye: being picked last at every sport (including team wiffleball golf), booting the kickball with all the angst and strength I had and it only reaching the pitcher, never being able to climb the rope to the ceiling, shaking uncontrollably during my flexed-arm hang as I strove to earn the President's Fitness Challenge certificate, crying the whole time we were forced to run the mile, etc. I hated PE and I still hate team sports. All those years of being the weak link caused me to molt into a solitary creature that didn’t play well with others. There truly is no I in team because I prefer to be elsewhere.**
Monday, April 22, 2013 at 5:59PM 
