dirt don't hurt

When you’re married for a few years, life has a way of just starting to flow in an unspoken smoothness.  Some may call it a well-oiled machine.  In our house, there are certain signs that alert each of us to something going on in the other’s life.  If my husband heard me tossing and turning or handling children during the night, he will have the coffee made before my eyelids finally push their way open.  Likewise, if I know he’s had a rough day at work, I try to gather the troops and welcome him home with love, hot food, and if at all possible, keep the kids from fighting with each other.  Sometimes, though, the simple situations are more practical and less emotional.  Not being a milk drinker myself, if we’re out of milk there will be an empty jug placed on the counter and I’ll know immediately to add it to the shopping list.  If we’re out of shampoo, there will be a bottle out of place on the bathroom counter. Same goes for the kids when they stand at the fridge and not so

One would think that I would be a decent bowler, considering how much time I spent in a bowling alley during my childhood.  One would also think that since a large portion of females in my family bowled on leagues and even had their own fancy shoes and balls that I would be a respectable bowler.  One might even think that since my mother had a plaque hanging on the wall of the Seven Hills Bowling Alley commemorating her perfect bowling game that maybe one of those skillful bowling genes could have gotten passed down to me and I would be able to follow in her stylish footsteps. But if one thought that, that person would be sadly wrong, and I am left to scar the family name in the world of bowling.  I may never know if I disappointed my mother by being so terrible that breaking 100 is cause for exuberant and exaggerated celebration, but chances are she’ll tell me after reading these words. Truth be told, bowling was a really big deal for me growing up.  I spent many a Tuesday night

The infinite jokes about living in Northeast Ohio involve the same things:  sports teams (or lack there of) and the weather.  “Don’t like the weather around here?  Wait an hour, it will change” is more than just a silly joke, and anyone who lives here can attest to it by admitting that he or she has literally used the heat and the air conditioning in the very same day. But griping about the weather never does us any good, and instead we try our hardest to convince ourselves that we love the seasons.  “Oh, I could never live in Florida,” we tell people.  “I need the change of season or else I’d go crazy.” But is it true?  Do we really need the change of season? Scientifically, yes.  This year’s mild winter is wreaking havoc on our natural world.  According to a news article by Discovery, our current warm winter is going to cause us a doozy of a flea, tick, and mosquito season.  And beyond that, bears are waking up from their winter slumbers earlier than usual, and may wander a l

(I'm pretty behind in posting columns...sorry!  I'll catch up this week!) “I have to send you this article,” my mother said over the phone.  “It was practically written for you.  It’s called “Are you normal or nuts” and I found in the Reader’s Digest and according to this article, you’re actually not nuts!” Seeing as these were such pleasant words and I’ll gladly accept any confirmation that I’m normal even if it is from my unconditionally loving mother, I prodded her to continue describing the article and finally reading to me. The words were comforting in the wake of one of those life events that you swear are being filmed for a hidden camera video and that found me making a complete fool of myself in a public place.  I am well aware that I have an emotion problem, or rather a problem containing my emotions.  At any given program at my child’s school or church, at even slightly sappy movies, or even for no good reason at all, my eyes turn into water faucets.  Crying,