I buy my hats at thrifts, mostly at the Salvation Army here in Richmond. Hats at this treasure trove of thrifty treats cost just 50 cents, so I buy as many as I want. As a result, the closet at home is overflowing.
Dad’s teaching style wouldn’t cut it when the oldest was ready to learn to drive. If looking back wasn’t the way to come up with a lesson plan for my own children, what was?
Here are a few facts most people don’t realize when they sign up for Obamacare:
Clay Chastain is again in the news about a light-rail plan he campaigned for years ago and still persists like a madness, like a carnival of mystic pursuit, like a sinister merry-go-round of ghost horses, like that dream that makes for a restless nightmare in the middle of the night.
All I wanted was to get back those bygone dinnertimes full of family sharing.
The expression “cheap steak house” is on par with “military intelligence and “Georgia winter drivers.” It wasn’t always that way.
Last year I had a milestone birthday with a really fabulous party. I celebrated with quite a few people that I don’t get to see often. Some brought cards and some brought gifts and those far away sent things. I was lavished with gifts and felt like a queen. Only, a queen would have written thank you notes.
Pure partisanship on the part of Republican members of the House of Representatives is a categorical example of abuse of power while they accuse that of President Barack Obama.
I have no desire to contribute to any further Mommy Wars, but I have had a few conversations of late that caused me to look at a hard-earned scar from previous battles: what defines a stay-at-home mom?
Once again, middle-class homeowners in the Center School District are getting gouged with another school tax increase (1-8, 816, “Falling property values boost tax rates in Center, Fort Osage”). Most homeowners’ taxes are already going up because of last year’s reassessment even though home values are still well below what they were several years ago.
Just one badass move a year can do wonders to shake up my life for the better, test my character and put some fire in my belly.
Personally, I’m always surprised when I get pulled over. Not only do I hate paying fines and feeling guilty afterward, but I begin to concoct reasons why officers shouldn’t prey on law-abiding citizens who, in moments of harmless mind-wandering or listening to “Born to Be Wild,” temporarily lose track of their speed and begin to spontaneously celebrate life.
I’ve read a lot about birth order. It seems to pop up as a trending topic every few years. Research indicates that the order in which we are born into our families will give us insight into our personality traits. That where we fall will dictate more than only having to lug around the title of Oldest, Middle Child or Baby for the rest of our lives.
I am really bad at the who business of visual documentation.
I sat in the parking lot, alone in my car, staring blankly through the windshield as tears rolled slowly down my cheeks.
If pet owners can think about their animals as kids, turnabout is fair play, right?
If there’s one thing that keeps a marriage going, it’s routine.
Ah, “the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.”
Halfway through the first month of a new year and I am nailing the most common of resolutions: detox off coffee and carbs, cut food portions, lose weight and get more sleep. Too bad I didn’t make any resolutions. I got the flu.
I’ve become an expert on RGD (Repetitive Gifting Disorder). My personal experience includes ceramic black panthers, metal and glass elephant figurines, botanical prints, the color purple and anything having to do with dogs, Italy, soccer, country music, impressionist art and chocolate.
Location, challenges, interests, careers and a wild, mad variety of other things bring people together. They also keep people together. When a common bond breaks it doesn’t mean the friendship ends, but it does change.
The different parts of Kansas City — from the Northland down to Cass County — all have their own personalities, but we’re all tightly linked, sometimes in surprising ways.
The years I’ve lived make me who I am. I feel each of my years. I don’t feel old, although my kids will tell you that I am, but I feel lived. Like a pair of jeans that used to be new and stiff, but over time aged and softened not to perfection, but to comfort.
If there’s something I want to see or do, I obsess over it until it’s done.
Recently, I asked my father, “What was Christmas like when you were a kid, during the war?” This was a good time to ask, because, I had to get my mind off the constant drum of Macy’s “magic.”