HOUSE OF KB

Sweet P has been sick since the day before Mother's Day. That would have been Saturday, May 11th. For anyone who doesn't remember. Which was approximately eleventy billion days ago. At one point she had a double ear infection, pink eye and pneumonia (maybe). The upshot of the maybe pneumonia was that she did not need eye drops for the pink eye. Getting them into her brothers was hellish enough. I was playing the glad game. But here we are, three plus weeks out and the little one is still not well. The cough is still present. She has lost, possibly, three pounds of her little body. Which is a lot when you think she only weighed 20 at the start. I swear if she wasn't willing to nurse, she woul

Parenting is just different variations of eating the last of something you don't like because you're too cheap to toss it and too lazy to figure out how to cut it exactly in threes. Also, this makes me think we are teaching fractions wrong. Instead of this part to whole nonsense, reframe it. There is only one candy bar left, your mother says you and your two siblings have to share it fairly or nobody gets any. How fast you think kids will split that effer into thirds correctly? Context, people.

Parenting is just different variations of eating the last of something you don't like because you're too cheap to toss it and too lazy to figure out how to cut it exactly in threes. Also, this makes me think we are teaching fractions wrong. Instead of this part to whole nonsense, reframe it. There is only one candy bar left, your mother says you and your two siblings have to share it fairly or nobody gets any. How fast you think kids will split that effer into thirds correctly? Context, people.

Almost a year ago to the day, I posted about how being a single parent is... like a never-ending game of whack-a-mole. With twice as many moles but a q-tip instead of a mallet. Please pass the wine. You know what I have learned in that year? That actually does not only have to do with being a single parent. That has everything to do with parenting. A never-ending list of things to do, papers to sign, butts to wipe, counters/floors/all the things to clean, piles to sort, piles of laundry to do, changing sheets, birthday parties (rsvp'ing, gifts, remembering to take the right kid to the right place on the right day and the right time), bathtubs, toothbrushing, cooking, shopping (not the fun ki

A hundred years ago, in 2004, I fell down a flight of steps rushing to my classroom. I tore ligaments in my ankle. Though we didn't know that at the time. I was already going for physical therapy for my knees, we just added the ankle. R was my physical therapist. By the time we found out I needed surgery almost a year later, he was my boyfriend. Around the New Year, things started to shift for me. I started to soften. Angry less. Bewildered more. Upset less. Content more. Unsure less. Confused more. So I did what I do. I made lists. Lots of lists. Pros/cons. Yay/Nay. Maybe/Maybe not. To do lists. Check lists. Haves/Have nots. All with my many colored markers. Maybe some post-it flags. I'll n

Yes, it's true. (*No, I am not pregnant. Come on, you lot!) I guess I never do anything in half measures. It's too late to change that now. What is that old adage? You can't teach an old dog new tricks? Speaking of which... I have always wanted a dog. Like, always. For the most for of evers. In my first apartment they weren't allowed. So I got a cat, Guinness aka Ginny. Then she was lonely. So I got her a brother, Dante. And I learned to love cats. They are pretty awesome. But, um, sorry cats, you aren't dogs. When Ginny passed, we adopted Ruffle. Then Dante passed and she was it. The house wasn't empty. It also wasn't full. Then we separated and I was alone with 3 kids. The dog became secur

This is the last of then. The last of those posts I had written and saved and scheduled. The last of the ones that seem so outdated, so past the point of present, that they don't seem worth sharing. And we begin anew. In the present. In this new cycle of now. With the posts I have been writing about 2019. But this one? This one was worth pressing Publish. Because this is when I realized that I was past survival and had started to live. This is the day I realized I had begun to heal. It's the second year of a separated Christmas. One where he comes back to the house to watch the kids open presents. Last year, B got sick. Not a huge surprise. We have a long tradition of the stomach bug on big