Sometimes, the universe gives us a gift we must savor, enjoy, and share


Maggie has been under the weather for the last few days.  She missed two days of school earlier in the week because she was vomiting.  Yesterday, she felt good enough to attend school, but then told us that she spent half of the day in and out of bathrooms: gastrointestinal issues.

She barely ate dinner, and when she said she still felt ill, I was putting the dishes away and happened to notice the bananas on top of the refrigerator.

“Honey, eat a banana.  Maybe even try to eat two.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because bananas are binding, and you will feel better.”

“What do you mean, binding?”

“They help make things in your intestines solid so that you won’t have the issues you are having.”

“Mom, that’s gross.”

Ah, a typical teenager, complaining about how miserable she feels, but when her mum offers advice, she turns it down as sheer lunacy.

A few hours later, I was lying in bed watching the DVR’d  Real Housewives of Beverly Hills when I saw my phone light up.  I looked over and the text was from Mags.  Yes, the same Maggie who was lying on the couch one floor below me, a wee small flight of stairs away.

This banana thing is no joke.

You feel better?

no but I feel the banana
What does that mean?

idk I feel weird
You know you’re not supposed to put it up your  butt, right?

You’re supposed to eat it.

umm I have to go                                                                                                                                     



Take the banana out of your butt?

mom youre disgusting

Yes.  Yes.  Maybe I am.  However, I had to be sure.  I am her mom!


Censored or Unsensored: The Trigonometry of Falling part

Carson came home from school, plopped on the couch, clapped her hands together, and said, “Ok.  I have a story.  Do you want it censored or uncensored?”

Ooh!  Six seconds after school, and I am being offered this gift!


“Awesome.”  She stood, so she could readjust. She sat back down on her knees, a sure sign gesticulation would occur.

“So I am sitting in precalc today, and you know how we are taught?  We sit in “learning groups,” which means, you know, we teach ourselves.

“Mr. K. — He’s like a really brilliant mind.  He understands math better than I think any teacher in the building, but like all real geniuses, he cannot always articulate what he knows, and this frustrates people who don’t want to work for understanding.  Anyway, he’s walking around the room watching us learn and I am just minding my own business working through my problems when I happened to look up.  I notice that the girl who sits across from me at the next table, she looks… I don’t know, almost despondent.”

She paused to readjust, sitting a little taller.  The story was about to get juicy, I knew!

“Okay, so this girl, Amy is her name; she’s a senior, and she obviously needs precalc to graduate.  I know she doesn’t like Mr. K’s teaching style, and I know she struggles in the class.  She looked miserable. She was just staring at the book.

“Mr K. then said, ‘Does anyone need assistance?’  And I watched her hand raise, very slowly mind you.  Hesitantly even, but she did raise her hand.  She didn’t turn toward him, nor did her expression change, but her hand did go up.

“He walked over to her and said, ‘What can I do for you Amy?’  She did not look up.  She did not speak.  She just pointed at a problem in the book.

“Mom, I looked around and no one was paying attention.  The weight of her point was making me nervous, and no one was paying attention!

“Anyway, he bent down, looked at what she was pointing at, and instead of explaining how to do the problem, he posed a question.  ‘What is the cosine?’  See, he teaches by making us figure it out for ourselves.  I mean, I don’t mind because it makes me think about the problems more in-depthly, and I always end up understanding the solution better, but Amy and kids like her, they just want to be told what to do or how to do it…”

“Or maybe they just want the answer,” I interrupted.

“Exactly!”  She pointed at me.  “Okay, so Amy did not look up or answer, and I noticed that her face looked hot.  She was turning different shades of red.

“K was looking at the book and not at her so I don’t think he realized that she looked kind of upset.  He didn’t get an answer, so he posed another question.   ‘Amy, can you tell me which part of the problem should be solved first?

“Mom, this is no joke.  I saw Amy clench her fists.”

“Did she want to punch him?” I asked.

“Probably, but she did something even better.”  The giddiness in her voice let me know this was going to be good.

“Uncensored?” she asked again.

“Good God, yes!”

“Okay.  So she clenched her fists and I saw a single tear leave her right eye.  Mom, I looked around and still no one was paying attention! I looked back, and I am not kidding, the tear moved in slow motion down her face and literally dropped on the page of her book.

“Mr K. was still oblivious.  He was standing next to her but kind of behind her so  I really don’t think he could see any of it.”

“So what happened?”  I asked.  I was feeling the tension she was describing.

“Well!”  She clenched her hands together again, “She let out this kind of weird sigh or sob or…. God, I don’t even know how to describe the sound.  It kind of resonated in her throat, but blew out her nose.

“I realized that everyone else was suddenly aware something was about to happen.

“I cannot make this up.  She looked up, and Mr. K. finally saw her face.”

“What did he do?” I could not wait to hear!

“Nothing!   He did not react.  His face was just as serious and calm as ever.  So, in a very quiet voice, she said, ‘I don’t know what comes first.’  And then tears streamed down her face and it started.”


“She said, I don’t know what comes first,’ and then her voice escalated,  ‘because you don’t fucking teach.  I don’t understand a fucking thing and I probably am going to fail out of high school because you are the worst math teacher in the history of fucking math teachers.”

I could feel my mouth gaping.  “What did K. do?”

“That’s the best part.  He never reacted.  His expression did not change.  He just looked at this poor, frustrated, bumbling girl and he did nothing!  After a second, he did say, rather calmly I might add, ‘Amy, I think you should gather your belongings and head to the office.’

Head to the office!  Mom, like she had received a call slip or something.  She stood up, swept up her stuff and headed to the door.”

“What happened next?”

“Oh. this is the best part.  She walked down the hall, a hall with door after door ajar, and kept talking loudly.  “Yep.  I’m going to fucking end up on skid row because of K.  Thanks K!  Thanks for destroying my fucking life!”

She patted her legs as if to iron out a wrinkle in her pants, and smiled.

“Is that it?”  I knew there had to be more.

“Well, basically.  Everyone was staring at K.   I saw it, though.  I saw his reaction.   He cocked his head ever so slightly.  Oh, his wheels were turning, and that slight head movement let me know he was thinking.  And then, he looked at us. No one was moving, and he just calmly said, ‘Does anyone need assistance?’ Like the whole thing didn’t happen!”

“What did everyone do?”

“Pretty much everyone put up their hands.  Like, kids who never raise their hands, they suddenly had questions.”

“Why?” I asked.

“I don’t know.  Maybe out of sympathy.  Maybe out of fear.  I don’t know, but I feel like after she left, everyone went out of their way to try to understand precalc today.

“That’s fantastic!”

“I know, right?  God, it was amazing!”


This experience was my first with “censored or uncensored,” and I am so glad I made the “uncensored” choice.  Ah, the stress of a high school senior.  I want to say to Amy,  “It’s fine.  You will be fine. Maybe in a wee bit of trouble.  But ultimately, fine.”



Day 328: Secrets, Smiles, and Hugs

I don’t know how it started, but about four years ago while tucking Lizzie in one night, I leaned down to kiss her and I whispered, “Lizzie.”

“What?” she said.

“I have a secret.”


“You’re my best friend.”

“Really?” Her eyes grew wide and she smiled.

“Yeah, don’t tell your sisters.”

“Okay,” she said.  I tucked her in and she nestled in with her pillow pet and I could tell she was excited we had a secret, a very important secret that binded us together.

Every night after that, when I tucked her in, I would whisper my secret.  About a month in, she started to whisper back.  After I told her she was my best friend she would reply, “You’re my best friend.”

After a while, we started whispering it to each other through the course of the day.  We always said it out of earshot of anyone else in the house.  No one could be in on it– to us, it was labeled Top Secret, and only she and I were privy to this knowledge. For three years, we shared this private confidence.

One day, Tom overheard, and he addressed me about it.   “What’s all this you’re my best friend business?”

“I don’t know, it’s just a little something Lizzie and I say to each other.”  I shrugged, but I could tell he was a little jealous he hadn’t thought of it himself.

The next evening, when Lizzie came downstairs to announce her bedtime (Oh yes, did I mention, Lizzie tells us when she is tired and wants to go to bed.  If she makes it until 9:00, then she tells us it is 9:00 and it is time for bed.), she walked over to give me a kiss.  Tom stopped her.

“Lizzie,” he said holding her hands and looking her in the eyes.  “Am I your best friend?”

She immediately turned her head to look at me.  I could see alarm in her face.  She was put on the spot.

“Honey, you can tell Daddy anything you want to tell him.” I smiled at her reassuringly.  I did not want her to feel that she was betraying me if she said yes.

“Sorry Daddy, Mommy’s my best friend,” she said apologetically.

I smiled, but I could tell this irked Tom a little bit.  “Honey, you are allowed to have more than one best friend,” I said to her.

She looked from Tom to me back to Tom.  She leaned in and hugged him.  “Sorry, Daddy, I don’t want another best friend.”  Her head was resting on his shoulder; she couldn’t see his face.  I could, though.  He looked disappointed.

She pulled away and he composed himself.  He did not want her to see that he actually was a little sad.  I was a little sad, too.  I never intended for our little secret to hurt anyone’s feelings.  It was just our thing.

“But Daddy, I think you can be my best buddy,” she said.

He lit up as he pulled her back in for another hug.  I clapped with joy.  It was not that she didn’t think or feel the same way about Tom as she does about me, she just wanted to name it something different.


Every evening before bed, Lizzie finds us.  She hugs Tom and says, “Good night Daddy best buddy.”

She then comes to me and we hug.  In the midst of hugging, I always say, “Wanna know a secret?”

She never guesses.  She never says it first.  She plays along. “What?” she says.

“You’re my best friend,” I say.

“You’re my best friend, Mommy.”


Oh, and our other two daughters, they know about it, too.  Carson wasn’t upset because she gets things the way little kids never get things.   Maggie, however, thought I was picking a favorite.  I said to her, “Maggie, you are all my best friends.  I promise.  I love you each so much that I think my heart weighs fifty pounds.”

“Really?” she asked.

“Yes really.”

“Okay, but you should probably see a doctor.  I don’t think your heart should weigh that much.”

We both laughed.  “No.  I’m good.”

“Me too,” she said, and we hugged for a long time.