This is my brain on text.

I currently have possession of the phone of one of my children. Texts continue to roll in- the child in question must have told their peeps that I have the phone, but I guess they’re thinking optimistically- and I must have turned into a crabby old man overnight. Because I cannot take these constant texts. They’re about nothing. NOTHING. It’s nothing but a desire to remain constantly connected, a concept which did not exist when I was that age. I mean, we were aware we could not remain on the phone forever. So I don’t identify with it, and I cannot stand it, and I am losing brain cells every time this phone buzzes with a, “Yo,” or a, “What’s up.”

I might give the phone back just to get myself out of this misery.


    Stupidity Level: Max.

    Remember the Egyptian plane hijacking of yesterday? ….Well, did you know that the absolute most self-involved, least self-aware man in the world was on that flight? (Not even talking about the hijacker. For real.) Turns out that a British gentleman named Ben Innes, whose Instagram probably contains a photo of every meal he has ever eaten, was on that flight. And, in order to document the occasion, Mr. Innes decided to ask the hijacker for a selfie.

    Let me repeat that: he took a selfie with the man he thought was going to kill him. In order to document the occasion.

    This dumbass thought he was facing death. He was one of the last hostages on the plane. And, as he explains it, he got bored (it’s BORING when you’re being hijacked, you guys!!) and thought it would be a great selfie to have, especially in case he was getting blown up. In what he thought might be the last few moments of his life, he wasn’t thinking of his loved ones or praying or looking for a way to help the situation. Oh no: this fine young Millennial’s first priority was to display his stunningly subpar critical thinking survival skills on Instagram.

    After that, he reports, he went back to his seat and started texting his mom.

      Easter Malaise….

      I feel your pain, kid.

      Typical of my usual, “Oh yeah- better do something about that” last-minute approach to Easter– my absolute least favorite of holidays– I realized last night that I would need the following:

      • Easter egg dye and eggs
      • Plastic eggs (note to self: check the basement)
      • Candy to fill the eggs
      • The kids’ baskets (again: check basement)
      • Candy and Easter grass to fill the baskets
      • some kind of Easter gift for each kid (too bad I can’t get these from the basement)

      So, you know: I am really just giving this whole list a big “whatever, man.” It makes me feel a little guilty because I really do want the kids to have special holidays– there is just something about Easter that makes me such a curmudgeon, I cannot explain it and I cannot change it. (Maybe it’s the inherently crafty quality of Easter that makes me so cranky? I am not a crafter. At ALL.) Basically, I just forge ahead and hope the kids don’t notice my lack of enthusiasm every year. I am working today, so I was thinking that maybe tomorrow I would go out and find all this junk. But someone really has to stay on me about it: if not, then I’ll probably forget and then Dave will go out and madly overcompensate for my failure to plan ahead. This is our pattern.

        Jilly is here!!!!!

        Jill and her family arrived in town last night. Everything this week has now turned up to an eleven.

        Jill and her family arrived in town last night. Everything this week has now turned up to an eleven.

          Guess what?

          …..Turns out, when the test is instrumental in Cam’s procuring his driver’s permit*, he turns into a studying machine.


          *Also a side note that Dave always, always says “driver’s per-MIT” instead of “driver’s PER-mit.”And then I tease him about it, and then he rolls his eyes but he can’t fix it: he will still say per-MIT the next time. Long live Davey and his quirky regional pronunciations.

            Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

            Right? All of my extensive training in watching CSI and reading the Scarpetta books led me to this shining success moment.

            It’s gonna be a long and fun day today, my friends. I’m typing this while sitting at a kitchen table which has leprechaun footprints all over and around a sprung leprechaun trap. The leprechaun left a note, plus Dave went out and bought candy to leave in place of the doubloons the girls had in the trap. This will thrill the J to no end and I can’t wait to wake her up.

            I am giving a midterm today, so I’ll be missing Gabby’s St. Paddy’s Day Irish dancing- Dance Mom Dave has that covered as long as I braid her hair before school. (Side note: I wonder if Dave can French braid? It’s possible. He can do pretty much anything.) But in better news: I do get to see Cammy’s first game, in which he is playing JV. I’m so happy and excited for him that I don’t even mind losing my chance to go out and celebrate the day myself.

            However: the main reason for this post– as I also explained on my Facebook page– is to brag about those teeny tiny footprints all over and around the leprechaun trap. I used a grape as a stamp and I’m really proud of myself. I’d Pinterest my craft skillz, but they’re trade secrets (also I have no craft skillz. This is just me, at 10:30 last night, wandering around the house in my bathrobe and trying to half-ass a couple of footprints before I went to bed. The odds this time were in my favor, apparently).


              Just a thought…

              I think the same people who thought Sarah Palin was a refreshing and intelligent person, are the ones voting for Tump now.


                Love wins. Twice.

                I was having a cranky day recently. Nothing major- just, nothing was going my way. And then I got an email from my friend Nancy: just catching up, this is happening, that is happening- oh and I’m getting married this summer. Boom. Better day, just like that. Nancy is awesome, and her child is funny and sweet and has a great dad too– so to add another positive to this situation just fills me with happiness.

                Then, yesterday, on Pi Day: my friend Maia– you’ll remember her from Dad’s super-fabulous knitted hat– Maia, who is a math professor— announced her surprise Pi Day marriage. I had been having another cranky day, filled with stupid logistics and dumb obligations, and I had typed so many detailed comments on a series of assignments that my pinky fingers were sore. And then I discovered that love had won a second time in as many weeks.

                Today is a fantastic day, actually. Much love to Nancy and Rob, and Maia and Jennifer. Long years of happiness to you all.

                  Cameron Trivia

                  Super rough-looking shot from last New Year's Eve. I think we had just been outside, shooting off misleadingly huge fireworks.

                  Super rough-looking shot from last New Year’s Eve. I think we had just been outside, shooting off unexpectedly huge fireworks; we both look a little shell-shocked.

                  Cam had terrible, terrible allergies as a young kid. Like, the maximum sensitivity to the allergy tests is a 6. When he was first tested, the nurse brought me his results and all I saw was, “Dogwood: 6. Cat dander: 6. Bluegrass: 6. Dust mites: 6,” and on and on. It’s been a long haul, one surgery, and years of allergy shots, to get him to the much-healthier kid he is now. And when I say “years of allergy shots,” I mean that he and I traveled weekly to the doctor to sign in for shots; wait to be called; receive the shots; wait the mandated time to make sure there is no serious reaction; and travel back home. We’ve had a lot of wait time together, Cammy and me.

                  For awhile we played video games together. There were a few months when we would make miniature paper footballs and take turns trying to score goals (this could only be done out in the hallway when no one was walking by. Logistics eventually made this activity impossible). Occasionally, Cam would bring his homework and finish it up while he waited. But about a year or so ago, I dropped him at the door to sign in while I parked. When I got to the waiting room, Cam was all set up with his homework and his earbuds– with only one in his ear. “Here, Mom,” he said, offering me the other one. “Listen to this.”

                  And that’s how we started listening to stand-up during allergy shots. We like Jim Gaffigan, Fluffy Iglesias, John Pinette. A couple of weeks ago we started listening to Craig Ferguson. We each use one earbud, our heads together, and sometimes we have to stifle ourselves because we’re cracking up too loudly in the waiting room. And here’s the truth: I’m not really into stand-up. But I am, most definitely, into sharing any interest my kid wants to share with me.

                  Cam was recently “promoted” so that we only have to go to shots every 3 weeks. I’m almost disappointed…. and tomorrow, he’s 15.

                    We interrupt your Cameron stories to bring you this text exchange….

                    ….Between Gabby and my brother, Mike. Mikey, as you know, did not live nearby until not too long ago- so while he heard a lot about Gabby and her Gabbiliciousness, it’s only recently that he has been deluged with it on the regular. Likewise, I don’t think Gabby was cognizant that she had a kindred smartass in her uncle– so it’s been funny to watch her discover their similar personalities. Gabby is always in charge of my phone while I’m driving- she reads my texts out loud (or scans them and says, “…Well, can I swear? -Because if not, then you’ll have to wait to read it yourself”), then transcribes my responses. She’s like my car secretary [note to self: can “car secretary” be an actual thing? Because I feel like I need one]. So, last night, I was in the car, texting with Mike via Gabby. As far as I knew, I texted Mikey a single, joking statement about who was in charge of our respective households. This morning, though, I looked at the texts and discovered an entire second conversation had gone on:

                    JULIE: Tell Mike there’s no way he’s the alpha in his house. That’s Violet.

                    GABBY [texts]: My mother just said that you are the Beta of your pack. Are you gonna take that?

                    MIKE [texts]: That’s erroneous. 

                    GABBY [texts]: My mother also said that Violet is your Alpha, FYI

                    MIKE [texts]: She knows it. Alpha as entrenched as myself does not concern himself with that stuff.

                    GABBY [texts]: I see, I see.

                    GABBY: Mom, if I type “whose” as a possessive, do I use an apostrophe?

                    JULIE: No, but you add an ‘e’.

                    GABBY [texts]: My mother said, who wipes whose butt?

                    JULIE: ….Why are you asking?

                    GABBY: Just curious.

                    MIKE [texts]: Touche.

                    JULIE: Did Mike reply to my saying Violet was the alpha?

                    GABBY: He said, ‘touche.’


                    1. I like how she cut to the chase and just told me that Mike capitulated.
                    2. It kills me that she refers to me three times in this text exchange as “my mother.” I don’t think I have ever heard her actually say the word “Mother,” in reference to me, in her life.





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