Published in Akashic's Terrible Twosdays
By Rita Davis
Every day at 3:15 p.m. my son and I walk two blocks to pick his sister up
from kindergarten. Every day he has a fit, a small tantrum, or decides to become
sixteen months old and needs to be held the few blocks to school. Like a chimp,
he wraps his tree trunks around . . .
Sometimes in Merica', we don't realize and appreciate the freedoms we have. We definitely take them for granted. When it come to naming our bundle of joy, we can name it whatever the heck we want. Ball. Bat. Paper. Pencil. Whatever. It is our choice and obviously, anything goes. In other parts of the world, there are rules, . . .
Stripper by Night
Hook, line, and sinker.
First day back to school from Turkey Day break and the buzz in the kindergarten room is the Elf on the Shelf. He's the real deal. No mistaken' it. Maria has one. Curtis does too. Did you know he talks to Santa? And we can't touch him. Not at alllllll.
We introduced Elfie a few years back, but the kids . . .
Worst in Show
" You want your busy bee?"
"It's in the crate, it's in the crate!"
"It's not in there. It's not in there!!"
"Go get Busy Bee! Go back to the hotel and get Busy Bee!"
As I sat Thanksgiving morning and watched bits and pieces of the Westminster Dog Show, I giggled with glee. Pomp and . . .
8:oo pm-7:00 am
I thought 'baby sleep' was the worst. Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down. If they came with a timer, it would be incredibly helpful. One would know they had 10 minutes to shower, 5 minutes to throw a load of laundry in, 2 minutes to scarf down a sandwich.
However, I have come to the conclusion that 'kid sleep' is worse. Or whatever . . .
through the stomach of my middle brother
Vomits profusely on the way home from eating an entire pan of fudge.
Eats only dark meat turkey, brown and serve rolls and fudge.
Demands my parents go through McDonald's drive-thru
Orders a plain hamburger, small fries and chocolate shake at approximately . . .
I wanted to be a boy growing up. Not to the degree of being transgendered or having real misgivings, but I simply wanted to be a boy. I was okay being a girl, I was just more into sports, skateboarding, and how many times I could go to the ER. I was your stereotypical tomboy who got in a squabble with a relative over whether I . . .