I’m not June Cleaver.

“Can you put the discs for this audio book back in the right pockets?  I want to return it after the movie,” I ask my son as I drive to the movie theater.

He grabs the case to do as I ask, but I can sense his disapproval without even looking at him.  I wait for him to complain. He just can’t except I’m never going to me the mom that always puts things back where they are supposed to go.  Our house will never be in order.  I am not June Cleaver, to his constant disappointment.

“Why don’t you just put them back in the right place as you go?” There it is.

“I’m driving when I listen to it.  It wouldn’t be safe.”

“You’re the one that wants to drive,” he retorts, not being serious, but needing to give a smart response.  “No one said you need to go to work.”

“You’re the one who wants food and shelter,” I respond.  Got him.  I think.  But, I should know better…

“I never said that.  I just want WiFi.”

Oh…life with a teenager…



“Tomorrow…no….”  She pushed that little microphone and tried again, “Tomorrow!”

D walked by and noticed she was having some trouble with the text to speech feature on the iPad.  He tried to help.  “You have to talk like a robot. This is an android. It’s like a robot “

“What?”  She looked confused and had no idea what he was trying to say.

“You have to talk like a robot, so it understands you…because it’s a robot.”  D tries to clarify.  By her confused look, he obviously  figured out she still didn’t know what he was trying to say.  “Here, I’ll show you.”  Then, he touched the tiny microphone and said, “To-mor -row.”  This was followed by giggles from all of the kids around them (because he was saying it like a robot), but it worked!



Girl or Boy?

Today’s slice is a throwback to last spring…

The gel was on my tummy. This was the moment we had been waiting for… confirmation that the life growing in my tummy was a boy. There were only boys born in my family for the last twenty three years. This little one was a boy. No doubt!

The technician turned on the big screen and moved the thing to my stomach. A black and white image of the baby popped up on the screen.

We watched in silence.

“Alright, I know what it is. Tell me when you’re ready.”

I looked at Ryan, my husband, he kind of shrugged.

“I’m ready,” I said.

Then we waited. She reached up and hit a switch. Click!

The room lit up in a soft pink… I blinked. I looked around a bit confused… Pink lightbulbs lit the small room…

I’m having a girl?!


I sat in a dark room working on plans while our class was at their special.  Suddenly, noise erupted from across the hall. stink bug

“It’s a stink bug!”

“I’m sorry I threw you, stink bug!”

“We’ll release it when we go outside,” I heard the poor teacher across the hall tell her students in an attempt to get them to settle and get back to work.

“She said we are going let it go!”

It doesn’t matter how old the kids or how experienced the teacher – if there is a bug in the room, there is no getting back on track…

“I hope that stink bug didn’t lay an egg!”

Apple Pie 🥧

He walked straight to the kitchen, pausing only to take off his shoes. I heard the rustling of the plastic bag as he set it on the counter and opened it. He saw the beautiful apple pie that his great grandma had made especially for him.

“Why does Ma always have to flex on people?” (Translation: Why is Ma always showing people up?) he says more to himself than to me. “We know Ma…You can bake. ”

Monday Mornings

“Where’d he go?”  I mumble to myself as I walk up the stairs in search of my son.  “Troy, I’m leaving and I need a hug!”  I say through the bathroom door.

“Chill out,” he replies as he walks out of his bathroom to give me a hug.

“Love you!  Have a good day!”

I get an “Love you, too,” and then he walks back into the bathroom looking at his phone.

“And I am chill!  I’m chill as…ice cream.”  He mumbled something in response to that.  It could have been about my lame comparison or something about how I am never chill…probably better that I don’t know.

Back downstairs I go to say goodbye to the baby.

“Aww, she’s holding out her arms when I come close.  She wants me to pick her up,”  I say sort of to my husband, but mostly to myself.  I don’t know if that is actually what’s happening, but that’s what I’m going with this morning.  “Oh, I’m going to be late,” I say as I pick up my smiley baby girl and give her hugs and kisses.

Eventually, I put her down and leave, calling one last good bye to my husband.

I toss my bags onto the passenger seat and hop in the Jeep.  As I pull out of the drive, I turn on the audio book that has been on hold since getting home on Friday.  Leaving the house on Monday mornings isn’t easy, but at least I get to find out how this book ends today.




And the door is closed in my face…again…

I push the doorbell and wait.  I can hear the lock clicking and I wait.  The door begins to open, but still I wait.  I make no move to enter because I know that…yep.  The door closes again.

Then it opens and my grandpa says, “She doesn’t want to go home.”

I smile and walk in as he opens the door.  I knew this would happen because it has happened every Friday for the past month.

I have been back to work for over a month now.  Maternity leave is over and on Fridays, when my husband’s weekend work schedule overlaps with mine, our daughter goes to my grandparents house for the day.   When I go to pick her up, the door is closed in my face, quite literally.   I don’t mind though, because we are lucky that not only does she get to spend the day with family, but with people who love her so much they don’t want her to leave.