Baked a cake for a friend

I baked a cake for a friend today. We drank tea and sat on my mother in law's porch watching the blue birds feed their young. It will forever be one of my favorite days I look back on the year I didn't work, where I figured out a moment for me. Yes, I wish that big porch with the big lovely yard had been my own. Yes, I wish when we forgot my son's clothes for his spring concert I could have popped out to the shops nearby and purchased clothes instead of shopping at The Good Will (or driving all the way home). But for those forty five minutes as we and the dogs sat watching the birds and the birds stood eyeing our cake and grabbing the blueberries we set out instead, as we sipped tea and talked about our weekends and all that went awry, my oh my, I figured out how, for just that one moment, to...
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Anne Lamott is a Better Mother Than Me

Yes, yes. Than I. WhatEVER. Yesterday, I read to my son excerpts from an Anne Lamott post on Mother's Day: "I did not raise my son, Sam, to celebrate Mother’s Day. I didn’t want him to feel some obligation to buy me pricey lunches or flowers, some annual display of gratitude that you have to grit your teeth and endure. Perhaps Mother’s Day will come to mean something to me as I grow even dottier in my dotage, and I will find myself bitter and distressed when Sam dutifully ignores the holiday." I shared with my son how I really didn't want him to ever feel guilt-ed into a Mother's Day either. (I remember one year when I had nothing for my mother and she didn't let me off the hook. I felt so awful and went to 7-11 and bought her some book. It wasn't born from within me. Just guilt and obligation). The first painful irony was that literally, as...
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On Throwing Out Things Other People Love

Say your son and husband built a dog house. And you love that they do projects together. Yes, you do. And you think it's charming. And you also wish, right about now, that your husband was a real furniture guy so that they could both enjoy the project time together AND you might have a finished product in your yard that wasn't so heavy it required two grown men to move it. And maybe it would be just a touch more, um, finished around the edges, but you like it enough in a kid-built-sort-of-way. And then there's the seemingly inevitable utility issues, namely, that  the dog door is so small the dog cries for help to get back out. But okay. You're hanging with this cause they've painted it to match the house. And you're not a total asshole. And then they move into phase two of construction--the dog porch. The porch, unlike the house, resembles more of a four-legged...
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Dentist

I was at the dentist's office today. I've been seeing the same "gal" as my Grandmother would say, for years. And each time I am struck by the same problem. We're trying to carry on a conversation as if she's painting my toe nails. She asks a question and I "arsrwflaw----" back and then she pulls the instrument out of my mouth, I thrust my tongue forward and try to get some saliva, so I don't choke on my own dry throat and reply. And then she digs on back into my gumline. How did I know I needed a menopause patch? When does my son finish school? How's Bryan doing? Does he still like teaching? In. Out. In. Out. And then there's this long silence and she really settles into her work, and I kind of zone out and start thinking about how I haven't heard that Carole King "Jazzman" song that's playing in, like, forever, and wonder why...
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