Five-year recap


Well good day to you! March marks the fifth anniversary of my writing for this prestigious journal, and so I thought it time to take a moment and reflect on my experience.

For starters, you should know I pen this column for fun, so don’t look to me for any hard-core journalism. See, I used to be a stay-at-home mom of four and provide daycare for a nephew and two nieces, and I desperately needed a way to cope that didn’t include narcotics or cross-dressing. The mommy groups I attended were either too preachy or hoitey-toitey, and bitchin’ to my neighbors just wasn’t cutting it. So the good folks at Current agreed to give me a platform to share my thoughts on soccer mom issues like hemorrhoids, snoring husbands, potty training and the occasional run-ins with my nemeses, self-righteous Christians and breastfeeding Nazis. (Current also allows me a great deal of editorial latitude as evidenced by my frequent use of made-up words and swearing. Go freedom of speech!) Low and behold, it worked. This weekly column has literally saved me thousands in counseling and Maker’s Mark.

Secondly, I am of the liberal persuasion and usually vote Democrat (unless I am under so much stress from living with my in-laws I accidentally vote Republican – true story.) This often puts me at odds with the majority of Indianapolis suburbia, the uptight conservatives with perfect spouses and perfect houses and perfectly-perfect lives. I’m not bitter. It’s just in my world, manicures, sit-down dinners and bathed children are the things of fiction. My point is, I keep it real in my articles. This doesn’t mean I hate my kids or am heading for divorce. The truth is, most days I’m just hoping to keep my sh*# together long enough to enjoy a “30 Rock” rerun before bed. And my guess is, many of you can relate.

Two more things: To protect the identity of my fabulous husband, I refer to him only as “Doo,” as in Loretta Lynn’s spouse. He inherited this nickname after a particularly disturbing yet hilarious affair involving a raccoon, a shotgun and a bathrobe-clad yours truly. Also, I close all of my articles with “Peace Out.” My sister-in-law used to speak these words when she’d retrieve her kids from my “daycare” and I associate the phrase with a happy feeling of closure (and two fewer kids). So, thanks for your patronage, and peace out!

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