Love it.

I drive a Prius. A little, cute Prius that comes with with excellent gas mileage and a decent amount of self-righteousness about my middle-aged mom tree-hugger social status. It doesn’t take up much space. It’s super quiet. Its interior cloth seats and manual controls are unassuming and polite. It is the exact polar opposite of what I am driving this week and although I am a little embarrassed about how much I love this rental, I really love this rental.

Oh, hi, Tahoe. I didn't see you there. Just kidding. I saw you there. In fact, I can see you from my dining room. And probably from the neighbor's house, too.

Oh, hi, Tahoe. I didn’t see you there. Just kidding. I saw you there. In fact, I can see you from my dining room. And probably from the neighbor’s house, too.

You guys. This is like a small apartment. In fact, I am sitting in it right now, my laptop plugged in and charging and resting on a center console that is as big as my lap. I have to climb into this monstrosity.

I love it.

(Have I mentioned yet how much I love it?)

It’s also pretty tricked out, as big suburban trucks can sometimes be. It’s got an all-leather interior and power-everything. It’s like a car of the future. All power outlets and blinking lights. It vibrates when I’m about to collide into something in front of me (I could use this on every car I drive) and it has air conditioned seats. So my precious backside can stay cool in summer. Apparently this car rents for close to $200 per day and I don’t even want to think about how much gas costs. Despite really wanting to drive this across the whole country, I plan to stick pretty close to home this week. It’s my good fortune that the other rental I was driving (a modest and boring Malibu) got ticketed today while I was teaching because it had an expired inspection sticker. And that the guy working at the rental place was finishing out his last day at the company. So, when I joked that he might upgrade me for my “pain and suffering” at having to find time in my day to come exchange the car for one that wouldn’t get tickets while parked on city streets, he jokingly said, “well, I have this Tahoe…” And then I not-so-jokingly said, “I’ll take it.”

So, here I am in this boat of a vehicle, feeling slightly guilty about my emissions (although not as guilty as if I were driving a Volkswagen — jeez, VW. You kind of suck.) but also sort of loving it.

(I mentioned that I love it, right?)

The Who loves it too. "I can walk around in here!" he shouted from the waaaaaaay baaaaaaack.

The Who loves it too. “I can walk around in here!” he shouted from the waaaaaaay baaaaaaack.



There are a handful of things that result in my extreme frustration/aggravation/anger/impatience. I’m thinking that maybe, if I list the things, seeing them on paper will help me find common denominators or reasons behind them — or more likely, things in me that get triggered during these behaviors. If you have any insight to share, please please do. I’m really hoping I can figure it out and stop being so annoyed all the time. (Caveat: I know a lot of this is just typical 6-7 year old stuff, which is why I am trying to think about what is activated in me so I can work with it.)

  1. When he gets really silly. 
  2. When he touches me on my face, takes my glasses off, or repeatedly makes small movements (finger or toe wiggles, usually) against my body. 
  3. When he leaves pillows and blankets on the floor. 
  4. When he screams, “ok!” after I’ve gotten frustrated at him and told him so. 
  5. When he doesn’t eat. 
  6. When he fidgets with crumbs of food, a straw, or a cup at mealtime. 
  7. When he takes a game or a joke too far or too long past fun or funny. 
  8. When he is selfish with his friends. 
  9. When he talks nonsense or asks nonsense questions. 
  10. When he asks “why” without thinking first. 


I just spent two frustrating hours trying to resize and clean up scanned coloring book images. In fewer than ten minutes, I will have to gather my patience and help The Who come to terms with the fact that the time has come to take off his bandage. (Never a willing bandage-remover, our Who.) When that is done, I need to make a grocery list and either put in an online order or go to the store. This is not shaping up to be a very satisfying Saturday.



There is no way to say this in beautiful prose or pithy little parenthetical sentences:

The situation with the [complete fucking lack of] gun control in this country is disgusting and terrifying. 

In the past two days, I have heard two stories that have made me not want to leave my house with my child. One story about playing at a playground that I wouldn’t give a second thought to playing at, only to have the playing cut short by a cascade of nearby gunshots. And another story about suburban newscasters shot dead on camera, live, in front of a fucking shopping mall. 

Y’know, sometimes when The Who is doing something he knows he shouldn’t be doing, he goes and does it right under my nose to be sure I know that he is testing the boundary. He is looking for me to tell him when enough is enough. 

Apparently no one is cares enough about people shooting at unarmed young black boys wearing hoodies or members of the trans community. Apparently, they haven’t hit our limit yet, so the unmonitored gun-carriers had to go and shoot out a storefront next to a playground.  And go shoot two white twentysomethings on THE FREAKING LIVE LOCAL NEWS.

Did they find the limit yet? Can you see me now, Mama? Are you gonna let me keep doing this, Mama? I’m right here in front of you, Mama. 

Jesus. I hear the message loud and clear. Why don’t we all? 


There are days that you anticipate for so long — look forward to, but dread at the same time. And it’s hard leading up to those kinds of days. Wanting them to hurry up and arrive and also never to happen at all.

Since The Who was about two and I knew for sure that his cute little outie belly button was in fact a hernia, I’ve been waiting for the day to come where it had to be repaired — mostly because I like neat bundles. I like concrete solutions. And I don’t like waiting. So, as soon as he turned 6 and his pediatrician confirmed that it wasn’t going to close on his own, we started the process that led us to this day.

Here is where I give the disclaimer that I know that this surgery was incredibly easy, incredibly mild, incredibly short, and incredibly low-risk. I know there are children and parents all over the world that contend with much bigger medical issues. We don’t. And don’t think for a second that I am not acutely aware of that all the time or that I’m not incredibly grateful for our good fortune.

With that said, as today approached, I sort of came undone. Last night, I believe I actually made myself sick with worry, as I sat under blankets on the couch, shivering and sniffling, certain I had a fever. (By morning, I was completely fine. Astounding what the subconscious can manifest.)

The thing that had me most in a tailspin was The Who’s fear and how the best I could do to assuage it was to stroke his hair and remind him of the doctor’s credentials and confidence (The Who, being The Who, is pretty comforted by those sorts of things.) But I know what it feels like to be rolled away from your people, alone into a cold operating room, and I did not want him to have to feel that. (All the things about understanding that life is about experiencing a range of emotions can be inserted here. I get it. But my heart hurt for him. If I could have gone in his place, I gladly would have.)

He woke up in the middle of the night last night, slurring that he was scared. And then again this morning, as we leaned in for our last kisses, he whispered it again: “I’m scared. I’m so scared.”

As it turned out, and as we all suspected when we were thinking rationally, it went off beautifully. He felt no pain, he lost no blood, he didn’t wake up nauseated (though later he did develop a migraine, classically accompanied by vomit) and we couldn’t have been treated more kindly or respectfully by the doctors, nurses, and staff. They all spoke directly to The Who, explaining everything, they let him move at his own pace, and they were incredibly mindful of his “queerspawn” status, referring often to his “moms” and never once asking to whom he belonged biologically and giving us both equal regard when it came to authority and consent.

While this was certainly one of the hardest lead-ups, it actually turned out to be one of the best days we have all had together in a long time, reminding me of how well we often function as a family unit and how lucky we all are, individually and as a team.

Go team.



What they say about watching pots is 100% true.

I’m waiting for the water to boil so I can cook something I’ve never made before in the 25 minutes I have before we’re meeting friends for frozen yogurt. (They haven’t seen each other in eight weeks; it’s a reunion. And also a pre-surgery well-wishing.) (The Who is having surgery tomorrow. Have I mentioned that before now?)

I have the PMS and this month, like many months (but not all months) I have the incarnation of it that makes me completely intolerant to touch — mostly from little hands and bodies. And, unfortunately (this week, though fortunately mostly) I have a very physically affectionate little boy. Hair twisting, light finger drumming, the laying of his cheek upon my arm (that’s a big one.) I. Can’t. Stand. Any. Of. It. Today.

I (re)explained PMS to him — all technical-like with the notion of possible pregnancy and the uterus and the hormones. And then the havoc it wreaks. (Is it too early for a boy to understand PMS? He’s going to be dealing with it for the rest of his life, probably.)

I’m making pierogies. Have you been wondering what it was that the water was boiling for? It occurred to me as I was dropping them into the water (which finally boiled while I was writing that first part; I knew that was the key) that I hadn’t said what it was I was making. I didn’t actuallyeven make these. They’re farmers market pierogies. They might be good, but half of them split open when I peeled them from their separating paper. Raw dough and everything.

(How long do you boil raw pierogies?) (Nevermind. I googled.)

They were a little mangled, the pierogies. They’re sort of the dumpling equivalent of how I feel today. I’m kind of holding it together, but some of my caramelized cabbage is leaking out and sullying the boiling water.

Anyway. It’s all about the surgery, I think. And I’m not even really worried about it. It just feels like one of those Important Moments — capital I, capital M. Last night I posted a picture of The Who’s first to-scale drawing. Worthy of note! I captioned it, “Baby’s First Scale Drawing.” The newest in a series of “Baby’s First” photos that I will probably continue to post until it is neither cute nor appropriate to post about your child’s first experiences any longer. (“Baby’s First BJ!” Not so much, right? Which reminds me of a question I often ponder: at what age does it become inconsiderate to remark on someone’s physical growth? Could I say, for example, “Look how BIG you’ve gotten over the summer!” to a colleague?)

Anyway. Dinner’s done and we’ve got a family of five waiting for us at the fro-yo shop. And then tomorrow, feel free to send us all your woo (in whatever form that takes for you) around 9am.

Pierogi out.


  • My current binge-watching series is Medium. I am temporarily ignoring the problematic things that Patricia Arquette said at the last big awards show and choosing instead to just enjoy her delightfully imperfect teeth.
  • My rental is a Buick Encore SUV. I can only think of the new Buick ad campaigns every time I climb up into it. “This is not your father’s Buick.” Except my father never owned a Buick and, even though I am quite enjoying my ride these days, neither will I.
  • (Maybe, at one point, my father owned a Buick. But not in my lifetime.)
  • We’ve got ourselves a new synagogue. We spent two hours there today, looking around and meeting people. I kind of loved it. On our tour, though, as we walked around the building outside, I saw my first autumn leaf on the ground. It reminded me that I’ve heard acorns on the roof the last few days. And it was dark when I got home at 9pm last night. I am feeling very conflicted about the impending season change.
  • Our days this week have been full of errands. Tomorrow, my boy gets a play date. He’s been incredibly patient.
  • I can’t believe it’s almost time to edit that “first day of school” Lego sign from last year.Photo Sep 02, 10 50 01 AM