The husband loves to camp. The children love to camp. I hate camping. I will shop for camping supplies and gather campfire cooking ingredients. I will pack with ziplocs for waterproofing and gather gear for unexpected weather. I will unpack, scrub and launder the day that campers return. I don’t camp. I don’t need camping […]
Thanksgiving 2016 A photo posted by Cathy McCaughan (@cathymccaughan) on Nov 25, 2016 at 6:08am PST Peak happiness is all of the children (who are no longer children) at home.
Today was wonderful. All the children were home. My mother was here. We talked, ate, talked more and laughed. I felt no anxiety. I rolled with problems. It was perfect, I think that when I decided to buy kratom to control my anxiety and stress levels, I was actually making one of the best decisions. […]
I am fairly certain that I am the only person in this house who enjoys and practices silence.
“Wait. Is Granny sticking her hand in a dryer fire when you were little the reason you nag everyone so much about cleaning the dryer vents?” “I am everything that has happened in my past plus generations of genetic memory.” “Does that mean yes?” “Yes.”
Every time I sit down to blog something, whatever I try writing ends up involving my dead father. I’ve tried ignoring it. I’ve tried composing things solely in my head to see if it releases the memories into a magical void. It’s all still there. Maybe I need to vomit a billion words about it […]
First time without… First time without… First time without… I would really like to skip ahead to the part where I am happy that we had so many good memories together. Crying while holding a sobbing child in a cloud of firework smoke is exhaustingly discordant.
Doug’s parents drove across several states to help out with funeral preparations. Upon arrival, they claimed the most difficult task. They took the youngest child shopping for appropriate funeral attire AND convinced him to wear the clothing that wasn’t shorts and a t-shirt while we visited the funeral home to discuss which funeral plans we […]
I still can’t make it a day without reaching for the phone to send Dad a picture or tell him something. On his coffee at Hardees days, I still time my shower so that I will be dressed before he drops by the house. I still cry every time I catch myself doing those things. […]
“E refuses to let me check his homework.” “Why?” “I think he’s afraid I’ll cry or puke on it.” < - extended silence -> “Maybe his older siblings should check his homework for a while.”