An e-zine about spaceships, aliens, science, memory, motherhood, magic, and cats.
Story time.
When I met my husband, he was a Christian. He believed Christians shouldn’t date non-Christians, meaning me. That was a rude and surprising slap in my face, after I had got up my eighteen-year-old courage to tell him I liked him. Continue reading “Christianity”
Before bed, we throw goldfish crackers at the dogs.
Two of the dogs are confused and a little miffed we throw treats, instead of handing them over in a civilized manner.
But Trudy — who is too old to successfully catch them in her mouth anymore — thinks it’s the best game ever.
I dreamed that dogs and wooden spoons are two sides of the same thing, and since my dog kept running away, I would have to keep her in spoon-form until she started behaving better.
Then I spent the rest of my dream carrying around a spoon and talking to her like she was a dog. Continue reading “Wooden Spoons, Lost Musicians, and Clean Clothes”
The new first thought upon waking every morning: oh thank goodness, it was just a dream, I wasn’t really in that place breathing contaminated air and don’t have to go furiously wash my hands right now.
So, I guess my sub-conscious has caught up with what’s going on. Continue reading “Sub-conscious Catching Up”
Adam Schlesinger’s music made me feel like someone else was singing my song.
I’ve been numbly playing Diablo 3, and it keeps giving me secret cow levels, Whimsyshire, and clusters of treasure goblins as if the game itself is trying to cheer me up.
The six-year-old has been given a choice between going to bed and cleaning their room.
They have opted for cleaning.
All night.
And have developed a detailed plan about how they’ll never sleep again, just clean all night every night.
Kids threatening each other in the age of quarantine:
“Maybe I’ll drink the last of the milk so we can’t bake scones or make tomato soup!!!” Continue reading “Just Another Pandemic Day”
The writing, acting, and directing in Dear White People (Netflix) is incredible.
Day 13 of quarantine: the six-year-old has dressed in a lion costume and the adults are arguing deep philosophy about what science -is- as if it were 2am, although it’s noon and no one has eaten
I don’t see why I should be expected to feel more guilty about sleeping during some hours instead of other hours.
The six-year-old asked to read my book, Otters In Space, and made it through the whole first sentence before being distracted by the fact that the word “church” is almost a palindrome and then running off.
The six-year-old has opened a pizza shop. I gave them a nickel and got back a medium pizza and a dollar in change.
Less than a week home from school and the six-year-old has decided we need a new room in our house — devoted to building robots.
Today, Daniel and I have been together for 19 years. That’s more than half of my life. Continue reading “St. Patrick’s Eve”