I played a game of chess with L the other day and… I won! Checkmate! Woooooo hooooooo! He looked incredulous (appropriate, as I can’t beat him).

I recounted my victory during our annual Super Bowl party and all of the adults said, “way to go. You’re showing off about beating your second grader at chess? You are awesome. Get some help.”

Gotta laugh. Especially at myself. (L did not lose graciously or gracefully.)

Next: Losing.

Gratuitous Post or… Letting Go

Last Fourth of July:

Oh, the Fourth. BBQ, fireworks (provided by professionals), loud noises, and the ever-present, “Ooooooooh” after a giant peony-shaped burst appears over head.┬áCheesy, roadside stand fireworks, not so much. Years and years and years of hearing my mother say, “you’ll lose a hand” have embedded themselves in my psyche. Even sparklers are fraught with danger.

Actually, they’re not. They’re fun and manageable and if I can shut my brain off and let go, everything’s going to be fine. Letting go, not so easy.


What the F?

Yesterday as I was chopping some veggies for dinner, I nicked my finger and let out an F-bomb.

L: “Mom, I think it would be more appropriate for you to stop using that sort of language. If you’re telling me not to use it, I think you should stop using it. You’re sending a confusing message.”


L: “Do you think you can stop using that sort of language? Because you’re sort of telling me it’s okay. And I know it’s not.”

M: (DREAM SEQUENCE: You betcha, I will not say s–t, f–k, a–h–e, d-bag, d–k wad, h–l to the no. I will abstain from such language.)

M: “Got it. No more potty mouth.”

L: “Great. What’s for dinner?”