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You can help a crazy mother out

11 Oct

I’ve got a confession to make. I’ve been cheating on you. Well, not you, exactly; I’ve been cheating on Snide Reply.

See, instead of writing about my life, it’s ups and downs, the funny things my kids are doing, the obscene things my iPad is saying, the people who are driving me crazy, I’ve been writing about being crazy. And I’ve been doing it somewhere else.

But I’m ready for you to join me there.

Yesterday, I launched a new blog that I hope will grow into a thriving digital community where parents who have mental illnesses can go to find help, information, entertainment and camaraderie.

It’s called Crazy Good Parent and it was born out of my own frustration at not being able to find the kind of information I need as someone with bipolar disorder who is trying to be the best parent she can. There is plenty of Internet help for parents, for people with mental illness, and for people parenting people with mental illness. But we parents managing kids, work, family, marriage, etc., while also managing our minds? Well, we’re not really feeling the love on the Web.

So, I started my own hangout for people like me—crazygoodparent.com. Come on over and bring your crazy mother (and father) friends, too.

Janice

School’s Out Forever

6 Sep

I did it. I finished. I have a Master’s degree. Actually, I finished a little while ago but indulged in some “west and wewaxation at wast.” This consisted of sharing a large townhouse in Galena, Illinois for a long weekend. Bliss.

I promised never to apologize for not blogging, so no apologies. Just promise to get back to writing.

I seem to have missed the Mrs. Hall boat and that really pisses me off; I SOOOOOOO want to tell her that if her boys can’t respect a girl in a towel, then they can stay the hell away from my daughter. Oh, and Mrs. Hall, pretty sure my son can look at a completely naked woman and still respect her. That was sort of the point behind our teaching him that he really shouldn’t be with naked people unless he respected them and that he should respect the people who get naked with him. But, we aren’t afraid of naked people in our house. Moths and spiders? Hell, yes. Naked people? Not so much.

Please enjoy the video below of Randy Newman’s “Beware of the Naked Man.”

School’s NOT out for summer

24 Jun

At least, not for me. Today is the first day of the last class required to complete my Master of Arts in Teaching. It’s an 11-week course smushed into six weeks. I don’t think I’m going to have bunches of time to post, but I’ll try.

Wish me luck and I’ll see you on the flip side.

 

6000 words

6 May

I’ve been writing from a very dark place for the past three or four weeks. Today, I finished one of the pieces and needed to mark its completion. Sitting in the sun, playing fetch with my dog, I decided that there were tiny details in my garden that make it possible for me to overlook the lived-in, played-in overall mess that is our backyard. Here are some of them.

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Writer’s Block

16 Nov

Write a sentence.

Let the dog out.

Pour a cup of tea.

Let the dog in.

 

Delete a sentence

Read email.

Check Facebook.

 

Write a sentence.

Scrub the floor.

Wash my face.

Pour a cup of tea.

 

Write a paragraph.

Do backbends seated in my swivel chair.

Pull my hair by the roots.

Delete a sentence

 

Let the dog out.

Write a sentence.

Brush my teeth.

Write a sentence

Let the dog in.

 

Write a sentence

I had hoped for something longer today. This will have to do.

 

Room with a view

19 Oct

Sometimes, words fail. Sometimes, it feels like everything fails. And then, sometimes, it takes so little to start to turn it around.

My office window is behind me as I write, so I keep the blinds drawn to cut the glare. This morning it’s gray and drizzly. I cursed the darkness, thinking, I need to get more light in here, and imagining a trip to Ikea. Then I remembered the blinds; they are closed so often I don’t even think of them. I opened the blinds to a scene from the garden I’ve neglected for months.

Lighting Matches

4 Oct

Image: fitsnews.wordpress.com

In honor of National Poetry Day—in England, I think—here is a poem I wrote some time ago.

 
Lighting Matches

He fills his pipe,

scrapes the tobacco into the bowl.

I watch him do it,

wonder how he doesn’t get shreds

of the moist, sticky stuff under his nail.

But he never does.

He lights it with a match,

a wooden match,

never a lighter.

This disappoints me.

My father owned a lighter,

lovely silver basket-weave pattern,

the old kind

with a flint.

I loved to watch him fill it,

loved the smell of the fluid,

loved the danger of the process.

At any moment the fluid could spill.

We’d both go up in a flash of fire.

This man uses matches.

He’s nowhere near as dangerous as Dad.

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