Laugh with me because perfect parents don't exist.

Me, me, me!

It all started in sixth grade when my teacher said to quiet down or he’d make us write an essay on the weather. I wrote him a polite note that said I’d prefer to write that essay instead of whatever it was we were doing. For years after that, I sent him what I wrote, bad poems and all. He always wrote back with a note encouraging me to keep writing. Thank you Father Abraham.

Our family was very practical about everything, including education. I chose a college for computers instead of literature because I could get a better job. Although, I did take the one and only creative writing course that the technology school offered. After graduation, I began my career as a technical writer wearing suits and heels. In a few years, I became someone who had a hard time finding clean sweatpants to wear. I was a stay-at-home mom in the early 90’s doing my best to raise children who would not become ax-murderers.

When I needed to return to the work force ahead of schedule due to divorce, I found my computer experience was outdated and no one would hire me. I did what any literate nerd would do at that point – I went to massage school. My parents said nothing although I’m sure they thought the massage school was some kind of cult. Remember, this was in the 90’s.

Years later, a retired teacher who I respect and admire, encouraged me to write down my stories. She thought that someone who was a mom or anyone who had ever been a kid might enjoy them. Thank you, Joyce Rubin. This blog wouldn’t exist without your kind words.

If you’re curious, you can find out the other stuff I do.

This blog is dedicated to my children who gave me the eternal gift of foggy memories.

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