Here’s what’s making me cry this week.

I’ll admit it, I’m a happy crier. I’ll admit even more: I’m a happy crier who used to mock my own mother’s “isn’t this beautiful” welling-up at ads, movies, D.A.R.E. graduations, and so on. But in light of the fact that there’s been so much sad crying lately (and angry crying and incredulous crying and and and…), I’ll cheerfully put my reformed ways out in the open. Most recently, I happy-cried at the Goodman’s beautiful ‘A Christmas Carol,’ during the {Read More}

Kindergarten & the Beatles & crying in public

I cried at Target the other day. It’s neither the first time I’ve cried in public nor even at a Target, but the surprising nature of the cry was enough to snap me out of it pretty quickly and have it turn into an embarrassing choke/gasp kind of thing. So, Susannah- Suzy/Zuzu/whatever the heck she goes by at any given moment- my second born ride-along, the one who can keep a good pun going for as long as the situation {Read More}

My baby started preschool and I’m super great with it, really.

Jasper started school. SCHOOL, you guys. For two and a half hours a day. (Two mornings a week.) Granted, he’s not sending me monthly postcards from his assigned oil rig- yet- but it’s hitting me oddly. Not jubilantly- like some of you freewheeling parents out there. (How the heck do you do it? Not celebrate, I mean. How do you do make it through a school day without wondering who’s gonna play Hungry, Hungry Hippos with you? On whom do {Read More}

Guilt/Cookies.

And sometimes your energy and patience and faith in humanity is justallgone. And you look at a picture like this: And you see those faces, completely full of innocence, and you kinda break a little bit inside. Because you don’t want those tiny people to be shot in a public venue, in a private home, not anywhere, ever, and not when they’re grownup, either. You also feel substantial guilt because those faces are growing up in a home with more {Read More}

Puzzles, grief & yelling at screens.

My Dad and I used to collectively pull out our hair over puzzle games. We uttered angry, not-so-nice words at the computer screen while staring down images of Myst. We reveled in various games’  unlocked achievements, cascaded tiles, deciphered secret codes, and manipulated picture frames that somehow became castle keys. We had entire text conversations which consisted of “This level./I KNOW.” When my Dad first got sick, I sent him The Room, a stunning and immersive game- the kind that made {Read More}

Six months later. (A Dad recap.)

My Dad, my first hero, died six months ago yesterday. Six months. At times, it’s felt like a blur. At others, it’s been an exercise in holding my breath, bracing for the pain, working out the cramps when I can. Sometimes I click on his Spotify icon, just to see if “daveflynn425” has listened to anything of note lately. To see if maybe there’s any record of those daily playlists we listened to during his chemo and hospice time. Like {Read More}

Grief. And Other Things I Can’t Control.

I am by no means a grief expert. I am by no means an anything expert. Except for mid-50s to mid-90s rock trivia. In that scenario, I’ve practically got a PhD. Which is not as frequently helpful as you might suspect. And even in terms of emotions, I’m okay at that. (P.J. would probably say that I’m exceptional at that. “Emotions.” As in “having them loudly.” “A lot.”) But working through them in functional ways that make linear sense? Yeah, {Read More}