Feeling "unprofound"
Lately I've been reading a lot of profound writing, good writing, writing that makes you want to be a better writer. Only it doesn't seem to be helping me become a better writer. Instead, I seem to be floundering in a sea of mediocrity, slipping further and further from a firm shore of successful prose.I feel "unprofound." I lack profoundness. I am void of anything profound.I've always been a writer -- even if it was to write "Brian O. is sooo cute!" in my small, brown diary with a lock on it. One would think that over time I would have gotten better. Instead, lately, I feel stagnant, stuck in a rut. Being sick hasn't helped the situation at all. My energy ha

Somedays are for being cranky
I'm cranky today. More than that, I'm still sick and pissed about it. This cough won't go away. It holds on and refuses to let go and that makes me mad. I'm missing out on quality time with my 3-year old because all I can do is sit, stare and scowl.I'm missing out on time with my husband because everything he does drives me nuts and I don't know why. I want to feel better. I want this junk in my chest to clear out.I'm grateful my son clung to me most of the day and is feeling better, but I want to feel better too. I know, I sound like a toddler throwing a tantrum and I feel like one too. I want to throw myself on the floor, kick and scream and yell: "It's not fair! I

"I love you too."
You and I were both feeling feverish and achy. We popped in Wall-E, which Daddy and I had bought for your birthday. We curled up under a blanket on the chair and Daddy went upstairs to update his status on Facebook and check his e-mail. You leaned your head against me. "I sick," you said. "I know. So am I," I said. After battling a cough, fever and chills all weekend I was feeling like a truck had run over me a few times. "Better," you said. "You feel better?" I asked. "No!" you said. "You want to feel better?" I asked. "Uh-huh," you said softly.

I think I may have angered some folks
I'm not a fan of 'Twilight.' If you are I'm sorry for what I wrote on Powder Room Graffiti this week.

A three-year old's birthday . . .
He woke up looking for toys and answering our questions of "How old are you?" with, "Tree!"He didn't seem to understand the whole "birthday" concept even this year, but nodded his head in agreement when we told him he would have to wait to open his gifts until he arrived at grandpa and grandma's for his party.He almost ruined the entire "surprise" thing when it comes to gifts after he pushed open the closed bedroom door and discovered the wrapper from his Superman costume.