A Mom's Life

Andy decided we need need an addition on our house to fit all of his junk. The beloved September 11th collection that I banished to the garage is becoming warped and needs to come back to a temperature controlled environment. I am a trained museum professional and this issue has me torn up inside. I understand the historical value of Andy's collection of random crap related to the September 11th attacks and know that it needs to be preserved in order for the story to be told to future generations. We recount history through material culture. I get it. I spent 50 grand to get a Masters in this exact topic. But, why couldn't Andy collect something nice or pretty? I like depression glass, cook books and Fiesta Ware. All are attractive and can actually drive the decorative scheme of a room. What can you do with a red, white and blue, size 12 tennis sneaker or a 4-foot replica of an 18-wheeler displaying the names of the 9/11 victims? How about toilet paper with a photo of Bin ...

Dedicated to my friend Bill. Procrastination led me to my addiction and I've been hooked ever since that day. Three o'clock in the afternoon on a typical work day is a giant hump for me. A few years ago I was looking for something to prevent me from wasting the almost-but-not-quite -5pm count down with web surfing or cat napping. Naturally my search for amusement brought me to the staff break room which sometimes offered up some form of half eaten, (you know there is always that person who can't eat the whole cookie or donut and has to cut it in half) stale sugar treat. While the snacks were sporadic, the coffee was always consistent. My former colleagues are die-hard coffee drinkers and the pot was usually full and hot from 8 in the morning until just about 4:30 in the afternoon. On that fateful aforementioned afternoon, I looked at the pot and thought, "Why not? When in Rome, do as the Romans." I filled the cup with black as night java, added 2 heaps of...

When my brother Jared was a kid he had a stretch Hulk doll. You could pull on any part of his body, head, neck, arms, legs, torso. You could twist him into knots and throw him against the wall and he'd bounce off before thudding to the ground. Jared tested the Hulk's limits on a frequent basis, and abused the doll for his personal amusement. One day the Hulk had been stretched an inch too long and he ripped in half. Even the special elastic action of the incredible Hulk could not withstand the constant stretching and repeated abuse of an active child. Lately I've been feeling a lot like the little guy. While I don't turn green and grow tremendously large muscles when I'm mad, I do feel like I'm being pulled in just about every direction possible and I'm worried that my fate is going to be similar: ripped in half and left in the trash as nothing more than a fallen hero. For much of my life I've been able to choose where to focus my energy. Most of t...

I'm not embarrassed to admit that I don't make a lot of money. My salary has actually decreased since I graduated with my M.A. No worries, though. I spent most of my twenties feeling bad about, complaining about it, and feeling like the man had done me wrong. Now that I'm in my wiser thirties I have stopped the bitching and moaning and have accepted my salary and place on the professional totem pole. Recently, my equally wise colleague said her teenage son told her she has settled. Her position as a part-time career advisor and full-time wife, mom and carpool lady just doesn't cut it in the eyes of her aspiring musician/comedian son. Ten years ago, I would have supported the kid by guffawing at any woman who chose wifely duties over a competitive career and all the fame and fortune that accompanies a high profile position. I've wanted to be a number of things when I grew up: lawyer, interior designer, flight attendant, Peace Corp volunteer, historian, museum dir...