vanity, thy name is… Me!

Hobo month has claimed it’s first victim. Sadly, it’s my hair. Let me just note that I have a lot of hair. A LOT. Summers, once the humidity hits, it doesn’t need to be trimmed as much as subdued. And it’s been raining here. Raining A LOT. But... Read more...'

Someone is not on the program.

Hobo month is experiencing a slight snag. One that goes by the name of MY HUSBAND. When I proposed that we reset our spending habits by taking a shopping hiatus, kind of like a grapefruit sorbet palate cleanser but for your wallet, he was all like, “Yes. Of... Read more...'


I hate sports. I hate our stupid baseball schedule. I super hate whoever is supposed to be in charge of canceling games in our super stupid league. But…I love my son– –which is how I ended up spending my afternoon in a downpour, watching two... Read more...'

and so it begins

Hobo month is barely a day old, and already there’s trouble. For the uninitiated, Hobo month is a brief hiatus in discretionary spending; nothing that isn’t deemed absolutely necessary can be purchased. So, hot dog buns? Yes. Creme brulee pastries? No.... Read more...'


My eldest daughter informed me last night that I am a “…really, really great mom.” Now I am choosing to believe that the sentiment came from a rush of affection for her darling mother and a recognition of all that I do and not just because I showed... Read more...'
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