She remained glued to the bench, daring the Yeller to approach – almost hungry for an altercation. “Bring it on, bitch,” she thought…
How could she possibly be expected to hear these things and NOT feel some sense of righteous indignation? Her firstborn had been immersed in the world of Stephen King. Fuck neutrality, this was war – and she’d already chosen her side.
Was this it? The moment somebody would call CPS on her horrific mothering decisions? WAS it a bad decision? She couldn’t be sure.
Middle school science never prepared me for managing a 5-year old in existential crisis.
Summertime is my favorite. Every night, we sit on our back porch (which we can FINALLY enjoy without layers of coats and complicated zippered undergarments) passing a doobie back and forth, staring out at the view of our neighbor’s yard against a backdrop of low-slung mountains. And we congratulate ourselves on being so damned woke….