Out of Sight, Out of Mole

free stock images

free stock images

So a couple of weeks ago, hubby says, “Either you make an appointment with a psychologist or…”

I pick up my phone and call the hospital. “Can I please have the number to Dr. P’s office. Yes. The dermatologist.”

You see, the situation with the tiny mole behind me has come to a head. My fingers have spent so many minutes acting like a heat-seeking missile that my arms actually ache from loss of blood flow. Okay, not really, but it’s been bad. So bad that my five-year old says to me: “Mom, I give up. I don’t want the job anymore.”

“What job?” I ask, two fingers ceaselessly caressing the back of my head.

“Your mole!” She exclaims. “I’m tired of telling you to stop touching your head. I quit.”

And just like that, she turns and leaves the kitchen. Hmm? I think this moment calls for a two second scratching of my head. Staring at my hands like I have Desdemona’s blood on them, I can deny it no longer: this is out of control.  Continue reading

Facebook Lent-ills



Anyone give up Facebook for Lent? I did. But not completely. Simply, because although some might think I’m addicted, I’m not. Sure, I might post a tad more than the average person, but I attribute that to the extrovert in me that cannot stay contained. And I simply don’t worry whether anyone “likes” the random things I share. I just share. And I’m pretty sure someone out there smiled, or at least smirked. That’s good enough for me. My five-year old actually gets mad at me now. When I laugh at the cute and witty things that leave her lips and whip out my phone, she immediately warns me, “Mom! Do Not! Put what I said on Facebook.”

“Ummm. O-kay.” Status update… loading… loading… complete. Oops.

I suppose it’s a tad criminal to steal funny moments from your kids and put them on display. But some moments are just too fun not to share. Just sayin… Continue reading

Here Sat a Brat. Who Pat her Hat. Her Hair is Flat.



I’m not a hat person. Was. I was never a hat person. Until recently. And not by choice.

I grew up avoiding hats at all costs. Let the rain mat my hair. I wasn’t wearing a hat. Let frozen ears lay bare. No hat on my head sat. 

Bottom line, I was too vain for hats. Had to keep the hair looking good. So even in sub-zero temps, I would walk into school with a non-slurpee induced brain freeze and proudly assert a teeth-chattering, “Sorry, I don’t do hats.”

Fast forward a few years. Okay, more like a decade or two. My head is cold. And when I’m old. A hat is sold. And truth be told. I thought I was bold. When in fact, I was just…stupid. Continue reading