No beatin’ around the thesis bush (no pun intended) today: With every passing rotten natural development that befalls the human body, from adolescence to death, females suffer in extreme disproportion to men.
Here we are, nearing the end of the second semester of the first year of the first of our four children’s evacuation from the nest. I didn’t write about the halfway point, in January, because I didn’t feel like wallowing. Now, I’m in the post-spring-break funk.
I’m getting right to the point; no beating around the bush (pun intended). The world needs safewords in everyday situations—now more than ever. To be clear, I’m brand spanking new to the whole concept of safewords, but I know there’s no wading in gently, and by gently, I mean very painfully.
Don’t wait until the last minute to plan your meal, from menus to which flavor of pain you are in the mood for this year. In-laws or immediate family? Siblings or cousins? Neighbors or workmates? Ham, or turducken (a turkey, stuffed with a duck, that’s been stuffed with a chicken.)
Here we are, up to our aspics in the holiday season. Most of the country is still high on Black Friday savings from all those zeros we rolled up and smoked (legally) after not handing them over to store clerks for slippers, scarves, and waffle irons. What an amazing time of year. Puff, puff, save!
We recently got a new favorite toy in our household. I know that some families get jet skis, or multi-room tents, but we got a recliner. Yes, we’re an active, healthy family, but like the Most Interesting Man in the World says, “I don’t always lie around, but when I do, it’s in a vegetative state.”
Why leave it to your grieving relatives, who will be furiously looking for your will, to make important decisions? Regardless of how comfortable you are thinking about your own demise, isn’t it your responsibility? And besides, wouldn’t it be nice to have the last word, once and for all?
Where did the time go? I don’t just mean this summer; I mean the last 16 summers. Seems like just yesterday I was packing bikes and kids into the truck and heading to the elementary school to teach them how to ride a bike, which was impossible on the hill we lived on.
The elephant in the memory room, so to speak, is age. How does one compensate for the decline in memory as one ages? Buy more Post-its? Put chalkboards in every room? (The bedroom chalkboard could get interesting.) Set alarms for our impending alarms? Surely, there’s got to be another way.
Love is remembering; he was someone before he met you. He had highs and lows and dreams and disappointments and comebacks and setbacks; job offers and perfect games and sublime moments alone in nature. He experienced moments with lovers that left him daydreaming for the entire next day.