Life As a Pearl

Sorry, guys. Not that F word. Trust me. If I thought you would read an entire post extolling the virtues of the actual F word, I would totally write one. It's such a great word! But I don't have to tell you that. If you're reading this, we're kindred souls and you don't need my help dropping the bomb when and wherever it suits. No...this post is about an F word with infinitely more insidious implications: Failure. Gross, right? Who wants to talk about that? Um, no one. So here we go!  A small list of big things I've failed at: 1. Parenting 2. Marriage 3. Religion 4. Life Thanks in advance for the way you said in your head, "You're a great mom!" or "You didn't fail at that marriage, he did!" Much appreciated, friends. But this isn't one of those pity-party posts. I'm not especially touchy about any of these failures--they're more like scars than wounds. I'm only even thinking of them today because in a f...

So...who's tired of all those pictures of ladies at the march on Saturday?! I mean seriously, why does my precious facebook feed have to be inundated with all this empowerment bullshit? I'm a lady, and I am empowered. And my experience speaks for us all, so if you could kindly shut up that would make me a lot more comfortable. Hey there, choir :) Anybody out there feeling a little deflated by that crummy feedback? Or maybe you're not deflated, but you're sure wondering what you could possibly say that would be peaceful, but also somehow stuff those jerks' red hats down their yappy maws? Yeah...me too. Last weekend I took a non-violence training to prep for any possible rowdiness at this weekend's event or any other I may bring Ayana to, and I learned something that changed my brains. I learned that my goal (in situations like a rally gone rowdy) should be to remain safe. I know that's a total duh for some of you, but not for this rabble rouser! My goa...

Who knew the best line from the best Christmas movie would also be the perfect parting words for 2016? Or at least the most censored ones. It's no secret this year wasn't my year, and I'm not going to sit here and pretend I'll be sad to see it go. But I'll be darned if I'm going to skip everybody's favorite tradition: the sending of the December brag book. Or holiday card. Whatever you guys are calling it. Now, I'm obviously not going to send anything. I have cancer, so I don't have to go the post office. But I am going to drag you through the twelve months of Smadon--the highs and the lows. And if you don't like it, well...I'll give you 10 seconds to get your ugly, yellow, no good keister off my property.   January High : I caught this feral child near the pantry. Wearing zero sleeves in January. Low : The time they made me go through this training. Twice. Because no one can predict the future.   February High : I...

It's been weeks since it happened, but my brain is still twitching on it. Turning it over. Obsessing. I wish it didn't bug me so much, but it just did . And so here I am, doing what writers do. It was the last day of Ayana's summer camp, and parents were invited to come enjoy a closing ceremony of sorts. Considering I'd never even gotten the girls who signed her in each morning for the entire summer to make eye contact with me, and Ayana got flashed for the first time by a fellow camper (buckle up, honey), and she picked up some charming habits like rolling her eyes and talking back, I wasn't exactly mourning the end of an era. But you know what? They kept her alive and entertained for a summer, and that's legitimately more than I did. So with guarded gratitude in my heart, I headed down to the rec center (maybe a little late) to smile real big, gab with a few parents (when did they all get so much younger than me?!) and see my kid get a ribbon for particip...

I'm not a big fan of writing about controversial topics. I don't like to post things on Facebook or my blog that invite discourse. Not because I don't enjoy discourse. I do! But because I don't believe people really talk on public forums--I think they fight. I don't want to fight. Not about who should be the next president, not about gun control, not about human rights, not about terrorism. I don't want to say anything that will cause someone I care about to rear up and tear a deeper hole in the fabric of our society, just because we happen to disagree. But as I continue to process the latest casualty of hate, I can't not say that I'm devastated. I'm so sad for the lives lost and the lives forever changed by one man's interpretation of what the world should really look like. Imagine the darkness he must have lived in, that what we perceived to be freedom and beauty looked twisted and evil to him. I'm not asking you to put yourself in h...

Maybe it's kicking off the month of May with a snowstorm that made this song just randomly pop into my head twenty years after I purchased (and completely wore out) this album. I bet I even started with the single, that's how much I loved Long December . Oh hot damn, it was my jam. (And also oh hot damn, I am getting old. Twenty years? Yikes.) But I'm pretty sure it's not the snow. For the record, I'm as tired of that shit of the rest of my Colorado cohort. It's time for a little sun! But I'm not so unstable as to be reduced to tears by the weather. We do live in Colorado, guys. Snow is a thing. So no...it probably wasn't the snow. It was probably this thing that happens to me sometimes when I've been out of my head for a bit. Maybe this happens to you too? I'm just floating along, not thinking thoughts because who has time for thoughts, and a collection of words just hits me--like a sucker punch to the gut. These words--they can be from a...

Them's are the odds my surgeon quoted to me as I sat in his office, an alarmingly thick tube up my (now proven) broken nose. That's how incredibly unlikely it was that I would come to him to remove a benign parotid tumor, and he would diagnose me with thyroid cancer. One in one hundred and eighty million. His suggestion? Start buying lottery tickets, honey, because winner winner, chicken dinner. Are there better ways to tell people you love that you have cancer than write a blog post? Most assuredly. So please, all of you who are reading this and wondering Why didn't she tell me ?, accept my apology. It's not because you don't matter; it's because I haven't figured out the protocol yet. There's never a right place to drop it into conversation. You: Yeah, work was really lame this week. I was in early and stayed late every day. And now they want me to work on Saturday! Me: Man, that sucks. I have cancer. You: I'm going to get a bikini wax f...