family storytelling

Of Course He Can’t Find It

of course he can't find it


“Do we have any mayo?” The Husband shouted from the kitchen.

“Yes, I just bought some,” I hollered back.

“Where is it?”

“If it’s not in the pantry, then it’s in the fridge.”

“I can’t find it.”

I sighed.

Of course he can’t find it.

I grumbled under my breath and trudged into the kitchen to find it.

He knows the drill.

If I find the thing in five seconds, I get to punch him as hard as I can.

He’s lucky that I’m all talk and no action.

So far.

family storytelling

I Was Having a Moment

I was having a moment.


The Grown Sons complained bitterly because I was doing noisy housework at 9:00 am on a Sunday.

I patiently explained that I had been awake since 5:00, but I refrained from making noise until a decent hour.

They continued to complain bitterly.

I gave them some wise, motherly counsel.

I don’t remember my exact words.

They were something like:

“Watch your mouth.”

“Quit your bellyaching.”

“You freeloading slackers.”

Neither of them, by the way, are freeloading, nor are they slackers.

But I was having a moment, and it just slipped out.

At any rate, the house is clean.

But the family is cranky.

It’s another Pleasant Valley Sunday.

family storytelling

Fall Housecleaning

Fall Housecleaning


As if we weren’t quarantining hard enough, we are now in the midst of a major rainstorm.

We’re stuck at home.


It’s as good a time as any to start the fall housecleaning.

The Grown Sons are shocked.

They have been living on their own for awhile.

Apparently they have forgotten how to live in a house.

They want to know why.

Why in the world am I wiping down the floorboards?

Why am I washing the window blinds?

Why am I dusting all of the ceiling fans?

And why, why, why do they have to help?

“Because,” I assured them, “We have standards.”

I swear, these boys were not raised in a barn.

Although the evidence would suggest otherwise.

family storytelling

The Grown Son Mumbles

The Grown Son Mumbles


The Grown Son mumbles.

It drives me insane.

Which is probably why he does it.

This morning he mumbled at me from the bathroom.

“What?” I asked, “You need sugar cubes?”

Sugar cubes?

“No!” he shouted, and then mumbled his request louder.

“I can hear you,” I sighed, “But you’re mumbling. I can’t understand you.”

He clearly enunciated that he was not mumbling.

And then he mumbled some more.

I shrugged and started to walk away because the conversation was becoming too annoying.

It was then that he decided to speak like a normal person.

Shaving cream.

He needed shaving cream.

Why didn’t he just say so in the first place?

family storytelling

Pondering My Life Choices

Pondering my life choices


I took a Buzzfeed quiz to see what kind of Girl Scout cookie I am.

I got Shortbread.


That’s the most boring, bland, dull cookie in the bunch.

“Well, yeah,” said the Grown Son, with a dagger to my heart.

He suggested that I retake the quiz from the perspective of an underaged party girl who has just slammed a couple of beer bongs.

I retook the quiz.

I got Caramel Delight.

Apparently my alter ego is a more colorful cookie than I am.

I am going to spend the rest of the weekend pondering my life choices.

family storytelling

I Was Putting Away the Folded Laundry

I was putting away the folded laundry.

I was putting away the folded laundry.

I held it in my arms instead of a laundry basket.

All my laundry baskets have disappeared

since both boys have moved back home.

I wasn’t wearing my glasses.

And I couldn’t hit the light switch because my hands were full.

I tried to make my way blind and in the dark.

I tried, but I failed.

I dropped all of the folded laundry.

And then I tripped over the pile.

So yeah, that’s how my day is starting out.

If anyone needs me, I’ll be day drinking and cursing.

family storytelling

The Grown Son Wanted to Shower

The Grown Son wanted to shower.


The Grown Son wanted to shower in the master shower.

But The Husband was on a conference call in the master bedroom.

I told him to use the hall bathroom.

But he tiptoed in anyway.

An hour later, I got a whispered, urgent phone call from the Grown Son.

Upon entering the bathroom, he realized the shower would be too loud.

So he waited.

And waited.

And waited.

He whispered angrily that he had been in the bathroom for over an hour.

I laughed and laughed and laughed.

The Grown Son was in a panic.

His phone was almost out of battery.

And the conference call didn’t show any sign of ending soon.

I told him to sit tight.

And wait.

Maybe, one day, maybe, just maybe, he will listen.

family storytelling work

I Have a Confession to Make

I have a confession to make


I have a confession to make.

It was when I had that connection problem in the Zoom meeting.

It wasn’t a connection problem.

The Grown Son had peeked into my office.

He saw that I was on a conference call.

He got on his hands and knees to crawl below the camera.

He placed a Chick-fil-A waffle fry on my desk.

Then he winked and crawled back out.

That’s when the “connection problem” happened.

I had to turn off the camera to eat that waffle fry.

I had to mute the mic to shout, “Thank you, you are my current favorite child.”

Like magic, my connection problem was suddenly resolved.

I have no regrets.

family storytelling

Back to School

Back to School


I would not have survived going back to school with social distancing.

I’m so glad my kids are grown.

My kid is the one who would have constructed a six-foot-long device out of random objects and duct tape.

He would have poked at all of the other kids saying, “I’m not touching you, I’m not touching you.”

When I told him this, he burst out laughing and agreed that he would have done exactly that.

Then he constructed a six-foot-long poking device out of random objects and duct tape.

And he poked me.

It never ends.

family storytelling

Quarantine Graduation Hoopla

Quarantine graduation hoopla


The Grown Son is a little annoyed at all of the quarantine graduation hoopla.

He didn’t want to go through his own graduation ceremony.

I forced the issue.

He participated grudgingly and only at my insistence.

And now he resents his missed opportunity.

If only he had graduated in a quarantine year…

Sorry, Kid.

I’ll check with your calendar when the next pandemic is unleashed.

Maybe we can work it into your schedule more favorably.