Longtime readers of this column might recall my penchant for writing about cars. During my decades as a college-educated chauffeur I practically lived in the family jalopy, and if you’ve raised kids in this modern age, I’m sure you can relate. When my glory days
Greetings, gentle readers! Old Mother is back in the saddle again, returning to the virtual vaudeville stage after a hiatus spent on Serious Fiction. It’s not that I can’t multi-task. This skill has not eroded over time, like others I can name, for example, the
August 2009. So I’m sitting here crying cause I can’t get anything done because there are so many kids running around…some of them not even mine…and I keep having to feed them… especially the ones on the cusp of adolescence. Madeleine L’Engle had a cook
It’s time to stand up for the kitchen apron! It got a bad rap in the 70’s as a potent symbol of female domestic slavery. To this I say: “Bah humbug!” Outdated paradigms begone! Why should I deprive myself of this practical household accoutrement just
My house used to seem really, really BIG, but that was when all five kids were knee-high to a grasshopper. Now that they have quite selfishly and inconsiderately grown UP into large-size human beings, things feel really, really SMALL around here, especially around Christmas. Home
I once worked for a fellow devotee of the written word who was not just a librarian but the daughter of a librarian. One day she saw me holding Laura Ingalls Wilder’s “Little House On The Prairie,” and, clutching my elbow, exclaimed: “I once sat
My children are NUTS. They are obsessed with my triceps, or actually the jiggly skin on the back of my upper arm where my triceps should be. They’re teenagers, for heaven’s sake! It’s been YEARS since they used me as a jungle gym, life preserver, or
Leap Year took off at my house in May, when Swoosh graduated from the University of Leaps and Bounds and began cutting an entrepreneurial swath through the Seattle music scene with an alacrity that did not surprise Old Mother in the least. In early June,
Yes, they do it, each in his or her own inimitable way, even the ones who don’t really live here anymore. Now you personally may feel that your children mistake you for a wallet or a refrigerator, and yes, that does occur here at Hacienda
Some things we used to do seems like you don’t see a lot of anymore these days–games we used to play, ones that used hand/eye coordination, like jacks, or jumprope, or clapping games, accompanied by chants, or singing. And singing–we did a lot of that.
Penrod screeches to a halt in the freezer section and throws a sixty-four count box of chicken taquitos into the cart. He blasts off again, sparks flying. I scramble to keep up, but the playing field is not level because I am wearing heels. Just
November 27, 2014. Wow. It’s almost the end of November! As we careen headlong into the Great Holiday Trifecta I suddenly realize this means that the school year has started. Yes, Old Mother is a bit slow on the uptake. And although I do recall
Old Mother’s Radical Blueprint for Healthcare Reform (2009) October 2009: Sometimes the best way to deal with something is through humor. So in the interest of keeping my blood pressure way, way down, I proudly present herewith, heretofore, and hereunder, a non-partisan/bi-partisan/post-partisan (did I cover
I woke up on Saturday morning. “_____!” I exclaimed. “It’s my _____ birthday!” I ______ into the bathroom to check to mirror. “Hmm…” I thought, pulling my _____ up with my fingers. “Dare I wait another _____ before scheduling that complimentary consult with my friendly
Day 1. 12 p.m. Mom and I blast off from the Chicago suburbs in an ancient Jeep Cherokee which at time of purchase unnamed decades ago seemed gigantic, but in 2012 feels like a clown car, or even a cereal box prize, if you don’t think