Life As a Pearl

No, this isn't a post about how my brother and I have ended up sharing our family's vacation home for the fall. But that would  be an interesting post. And would mostly be a detailed list of who won the classic game of Sorry when. This is also not a post about the family who is renting my town home while I'm here in Pitkin. But that might be a good story too, considering the last text I got from the gentlemen was whether on not I'd left an adult hamper. I'm honestly not sure if a laundry basket falls within the parameters of "furnished." Nope. Jesse is a fun person to share space with, and my renters seem like truly lovely people. Fun and lovely. Just the kind of atmosphere I'm trying to create in my living space. But for years--my whole life, even--I've been battling an enemy that's more creepy than fun, more crawly than lovely. I'm talking about spiders, people. The big ones and the small ones and the hairy ones. The poisonous varie...

Remember when I used to live in Kansas City, and we'd schlep all the way out to Pitkin every summer in the Mazda MPV, counting train cars and reading Nancy Drews? When we got our mail General Delivery and shared about 16 square feet of house between the four of us? No? I hardly do either. But trust me--that used to be a thing. Before we lived in Colorado, we'd make the two-day trip, Jesse armed with gameboys and tapes of Star Trek (yeah, we had a portable TV in that van, NBD), and me loaded down with books and, well, books. I was kind of a nerd. Whatever. Well here's the thing. I liked  my books. And Jesse liked his games and movies. We were happy and quiet and not really inclined to fight over a finger across the midline or whose turn it was to pick the next restaurant. There was only one restaurant, anyway. And by restaurant, I mean truck stop that also sold fried food and pies. The Mitten Cafe (although I think we added the Cafe part to class it up)...

What you're about to read is true. The names have been slightly changed to make you laugh. Once upon a time, in a Costco located conveniently close, two girls and a two year old were doing some bulk shopping. Kimber Lee and her daughter Eye Anna had been graciously escorted by the lovely Sasha--the girlfriend of Kimber Lee's brother and the keeper of the Costco membership. On the whole, it was an uneventful trip. Sasha and Kimber Lee caught up on the day's happening while Eye Anna played with her dinosaurs and attempted to finagle her way out of the cart. Eventually, she did it--claiming her "bunny" hurt. Mamas can't abide by grumbly bunnies, so Kimber Lee freed Eye Anna from the cart, giving her bunny kisses as she situated her on her hip. But Eye Anna wasn't being entirely truthful. Although a later diaper would indicate that her stomach was indeed unhappy, what Eye Anna really wanted was to run the oversized aisles of Costco, getting hopeless...

The following is a brief text conversation I had with my man a few minutes ago (you'll note he's saved as Eric Smith in my phone, so as not to be confused with all the other Erics I'm always getting texts from). Eric Smith : The gas station im [sic] at has a donkey fenced in a pen. You can place a quarter in a machine and get feed. Me : Oh, that's a blog post, baby. Please feed and send pic. Eric Smith : Baby, this is a business stop. No frills. [ translation: Kimberly. I am at work. With men. Big men. Full of sperm. I will not be feeding cute animals with my quarters. I'll be buying condoms in the bathroom because men think condoms are hilarious. ] Me : Well who's going to tell that to the hungry donkey? [ translation: I don't believe you and I want that picture! ] Eric Smith : Good question. There is also a llama. Me : Naturally. I bet the llama's hungry too. Eric Smith : Maybe it could eat the donkey? [ translation: you...

And they were all from a western culture, one that prefers not to be too loud, too much trouble, or too exposed. Already they'd given me quite the eye when we talked about writing from the heart of your own emotions. "I don't express myself personally in my work," one of them told me. "I just don't do that." excerpt from Saving Eagle Mitch by Barbara Chepaitis Ok, so the first thing I really want to say here is, read Saving Eagle Mitch by Barbara Chepaitis. I haven't done any book reviews on this blog (yet), and this isn't a book review. But if it was, I'd tell you this is a must read for a weary soul. A must read for those who complain about the powers that be, but have never considered taking action. A must read for people lovers and animal lovers and book lovers. A must read for readers of my blog, because there's going to be a quiz next week. Now here's a confession that's going to make my recommendation susp...

I've been hesitant to write this post because this blog isn't about motherhood. It's not about adoption. It's not even about idiots, although perhaps it should be. Think of the possibilities! This post is about the intersection of the three, and I hope you'll forgive me for taking this moment to be a parent. A parent of an adopted child. A parent of an adopted child, born into a world of idiots (and wonderful people, too; but this isn't a story about them). Any member of a biracial family has a story (or twenty) about some less-than-thoughtful question, posed by a complete stranger, as to how this particular grouping of people came to be a group. "Is she adopted?" is the question I get most often. I'm not sure why the lady behind me in the grocery store line cares, but sure, she's adopted. I'm proud of her heritage and I want her to be as well. So when people (inexplicably) whisper that question, I'm happy to smile and answer with the...

Got some good news for you, friends; some very good news, indeed. Today, the 18th of July, is both national ice cream day  and  national caviar day. I don't suggest combining the two--probably didn't need to tell you that. But I do  suggest indulging in both today. Why? Well if you're really the kind of person who needs more than a national directive to treat yourself to decadence, I've got you covered. Get you some ice cream, get you some caviar, and enjoy them both in honor of me! Now that's  indulgent, you're probably thinking. Who is this girl, to suggest we spend our hard-earned monies and eschew our calorie counts in her honor? What does she think this is--her birthday? Nope. That's tomorrow. And if you want to celebrate me then, too, I say go for it! But trust me; today's the better day for celebrating. Mostly because of the ice cream and caviar, but a little bit because today marks the one year anniversary of my divorce. Yep. I hea...