The Voice of PMS

The Voice of PMS

 

"Good Morning! Everything sucks. Especially you. You suck."

“No, don’t shower today. It’s too much effort and it won’t noticeably lessen the hardcore self-loathing we’ve got going on here."

“I hate your clothes. You look like a bag lady. You know you don't need a bra for those, right?"


“Hey! You should cut your own bangs. Yea, like that, that looks pretty good. Just a few more snips so they’re too short and you’re crying. There. That’s it.”

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Push and Pull-now with video

Push and Pull-now with video

(This is the piece I read on stage for Listen To Your Mother:Portland 2015. Video coming in July. )

...I envision taking a walk through our neighborhood as something involving free movement and an even pace. No thirty-five pound struggling toddler on my hip or pushing the equivalent of my weight in a loaded double stroller.

Already, everyone in our house can visit the bathroom by themselves. (Please note the difference between ability and actual practice.)

Any moment now, my youngest will stop plunging her hand down my shirt to hold my breasts for comfort, in public. (It’s like her security blanket. The right one, mostly. My husband has asked me not to talk about it at dinner parties anymore, but this is fine.)

Soon, I will enjoy a meal without that same child awkwardly planting herself on my lap between me and my dinner, so that I have to cut and eat with my non-dominant hand, trying not to drop my lasagna onto my little girl’s head, while she slops hers down the front of herself and onto my pants.

Instead, there will be no little girl on my lap...

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Shower Scandal

Shower Scandal

My husband went on a business trip and came back with the habit of showering daily, thereby breaking our unspoken, thrice weekly bathing arrangement.

At first I thought he was jet-lagged. After his third shower in as many days, I pointed out his excessive cleansing.

“Yeah, I know. I showered every day when I was away and I think I’m going to keep it up,” was his reply.

“You can’t do that!” I shrieked. “You didn’t even ask me! You’re going to ruin everything!”

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I'm Not Interested in Alcohol Anymore-for Scary Mommy

I'm Not Interested in Alcohol Anymore-for Scary Mommy

Peer pressure is still a thing at thirty-five, but it isn’t as outright. At a party, a drink in your hand is an accessory everyone expects you to have. Without one, people constantly offer. I get a surprise reaction, when I say, “No, thank you.”  Friends think I’m kidding when I tell them my cocktail is virgin. They hesitate to drink as much as they would, were I partaking.  It’s hard for me to tell someone  I’m not interested, and not feel as though I’m back in high school where people assumed that by not drinking,  I was judging them negatively for drinking.

The biggest difference between peer pressure in my teens and peer pressure in my mid-thirties, is how it affects me. Then, I wanted desperately to fit in with the crowd. Now, I don’t give a rip if someone thinks I’m not cool because I don’t drink. Even better, I’m not in relationships that could be affected by such a thing...

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Vacation Fantasy vs. Vacation Reality

Vacation Fantasy vs. Vacation Reality

Every year, our family takes vacation in a two week lump sum at the end of Summer. And every year, I build up a fantasy that it will be a combination of ultimate relaxation and effortless productivity. The end all, be all, of events.

Behold vacation! Where everything I have ever wanted happens simultaneously. Outdoor adventure, travel, family fun, marital bonding, home improvement, self enhancement and world peace. By the time vacation arrives, I’ve mostly forgotten I am naught but a daydreaming dope with two small children...

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Jungle Snake (on In The Powder Room)

Jungle Snake (on In The Powder Room)

I slid into a tide-pool the size of a large hot-tub to soak it all in. Just the ocean, the palm trees and me. 

Ahhhhhhh. Crap. Someone was coming my way from around the corner. A dude in bright orange swim-trunks. Move it along, Buddy, I thought, unable to enjoy myself until he’d wandered out of sight. But he didn’t. Instead, he sat down under MY perfect cluster of palm trees, twenty feet directly behind me...

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