Stuff my dog taught me

and stuff I'm figuring out on my own


fooddiaryI have gained a bit of weight over the past year. The good news is that, as it turns out, my thyroid is underperforming. I am very disappointed in my thyroid for not being more of a team player. The bad news is that while a daily dose of synthetic hormones (yummy) will eventually improve the day-to-day performance of my lazy-ass thyroid, I will probably have to get rid of the existing pounds on my own. Sigh.

A friend suggested that a good first step would be to keep a food diary for a couple of weeks. This seemed painless, and you can eat while you record your food intake, so…

Two weeks later, I know a lot more than I want to about what I eat, when I eat, and most importantly, why I eat. And one thing I know for a fact is that hunger is not the #1 reason I shove food in my face. In fact (spoiler alert) it is #25 out of 25.  Surely I cannot be the only woman who eats just because…

  1. It is breakfast time
  2. It is lunch time
  3. It is supper time
  4. There is something edible less than an arm’s length from my body
  5. I am in a grocery store
  6. I am unpacking groceries
  7. I am making food for someone else
  8. Someone near me is eating and is willing to share
  9. I am sad
  10. I am angry
  11. I am depressed
  12. I am happy
  13. I am bored
  14. I have done something good and deserve a reward
  15. I have done something bad and must be distracted from my guilt
  16. I am drinking (my record keeping indicates that I consume the equivalent of 2 square inches of cheese and 8 crackers for each glass of wine)
  17. Something in the refrigerator is nearing its expiry date (so I eat half a package of hot genoa salami instead of an apple because apples literally last forever!)
  18. I am lonely
  19. I am with friends
  20. I am watching television
  21. I am reading a book
  22. It is past 10pm and I am still awake
  23. It is stormy outside
  24. I am at a movie theatre (because movie popcorn is made of crack cocaine and unicorn kisses and no one can resist it. Google this… I am sure it is a fact!)
  25. I am hungry

 Note: While writing this blog post I became overwhelmed by the need to nibble on a cookie… or two… or the entire first row inside the OREO package. So I guess “I am writing” must be #25, which means that “I am hungry” is #26. Sigh.


heels2Here are just some of the things women DO NOT do in high heels. Ever.

  1. Work as plain clothes detectives, private investigators, on-site forensics experts, international spies, emergency room doctors, or any other vocation in which spontaneous running may be required
  2. Teach school. The sexy schoolteacher is a figment of the male imagination – like mermaids and sirens, and dogs that bring you beer
  3. Go shopping. Especially in grocery stores. Why in the name of God would I wear stilettos to the Superstore?
  4. Push strollers, play with children, or otherwise engage in active parenting
  5. Curl up on the sofa at the end of the day
  6. Cook, bake, or otherwise function in a kitchen
  7. Meet up with friends. Seriously?!? If you have to wear foundation, mascara, lipstick, and a 3” pair of heels to a hen party, you are not hangin’ with the right hens
  8. Seduce their husband. Note: If you say “let’s do it”, the husband is happy. Seduction complete. No need for wardrobe changes or uncomfortable footwear
  9. Travel on planes
  10. Run

Even in the imaginary world of movies and comic books, I am confident that no female action hero would choose stilettos. Cat Woman, Wonder Woman, the Black Widow et al should be wearing Nike Frees because that is what people wear when they need to jump and leap and run and generally kick ass.

That is what real women do every day. We jump and leap and run and generally kick ass. And we do it in comfortable footwear.


holding-hands-mother-and-childHer dad and I helped her carry everything up three flights of stairs to her dorm room.  And I remembered when she used to wrap her tiny hand around my index finger and we would slowly count the front steps to our house while she worked her way up. 1…2…3…

 I tried to put her sweaters away but she didn’t want my help.  And I remembered when she used to say “myself” while insisting on dressing herself, even though she couldn’t work the buttons and would inevitably wind up throwing a half-naked tantrum in the middle of her bedroom floor.

I reminded her about the flashlight I packed in case there was a power failure, but she wasn’t listening.  And I remembered setting up an aquarium in her bedroom because she didn’t want people to know that she was still (at age 5) afraid of the dark, so instead of a nightlight we turned on the aquarium bulb when she went to bed (so her fish could swim in fake sunlight).

I ran out to the grocery store and brought back a bunch of food that she didn’t ask for and seemed a bit annoyed about (because storage space is limited).   And I remembered that sometimes she likes wheat thins but sometimes she likes rice crackers, and hummus is her favourite study snack. And she needs chocolate for “sad” days and apples for mornings when she is running too late to eat breakfast and Chip Ahoy cookies because they are delicious!

I wandered aimlessly around the campus while she got her student card and her orientation package because I wasn’t quite ready to leave.  And I remembered coaxing her to order for herself in restaurants, and to stand in movie ticket line ups, and to put food on the conveyor belt at the grocery store. And how proud she was to be a “big girl” who could take care of herself and help mommy.

Then I gave her a quick hug and a kiss and got in the car. And let her father be the one to get the longer hug and the longer kiss because everyone in the family knows that he’s the “softie” who gets upset about this stuff.  And I sat in the passenger seat of a Subaru station wagon and remembered the smell of her newborn head. And the way she folded in against me when I nursed her. And the feel of her tiny hand around my index finger…


leafThe white board in my office looks like the wall of a prison cell, lined with stick marks as I count off the days of August. “Soon,” whispers the hopeful voice inside my head. “Soon.”

The voice whispers because it knows that I must keep my feelings on the down-low. Because in my world, there is a cult-like enthusiasm about summer and admitting that you find the whole season exhausting and stressful is a blasphemy. Yet I know that I am not alone. In the grocery store line up, women like myself make cheerful chitchat about the great weather, and trips to the cottage, and barbeque parties, but we smile through gritted teeth and everyone is stopping at the liquor store on their way home.

It is time for September…

I want to put my horribly uncomfortable strapless bras in a pile on the street and run them over with my car. Then I want to go inside and put on an outfit that covers both the cellulite on the back of my legs and the slightly wobbly flesh of my upper arms. This outfit will include at least one clothing item with pockets. It will accommodate the wearing of full-ass coverage panties. And it will cover both shoulders so that I can wear my super-comfy bra with the thick, dependable, beige straps. I get excited just thinking about it! 

I want to put a bunch of stuff in my slow cooker and have it turn into dinner while I am at work. I want to eat meat that doesn’t taste like a combination of Montreal steak spice and barbeque sauce. I want to stop feeling guilty because I never get around to making watermelon salad and end up dumping giant, hammock-shaped cuts of over-ripe fruit in the composter every week. And I want to drink a glass of wine inside, where there are no hornets circling the rim and no black flies doing the backstroke in my pinot grigio.

I want summer “vacation” to end…

There is a genuine risk that I may violently dismember the next person who talks about how they are dreading the end of summer and having to “get back to the grind”. Because I have been in “the grind” for the past two months and trust me… “the grind” is a lot harder when you are trying to figure out what to do with a 12-year-old every weekday and the summer camp you paid $400+ for now demands that you take most of Friday off work so you can show up and watch campers perform their interpretive version of Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream.

The chorine in the local pool has chewed up all of the family bathing suits and I can’t buy new ones because the stores sold out of bathing suits back in May when they began stocking the shelves with “Back to School” wear. The pretty flowers I planted in spring died at the end of July when we went to the cottage for a week and forgot to pay someone to water them, so the deck is now decorated with giant pots full of their spindly brown corpses. We’ve lost all of the beach towels and the water bottles and the sunglasses. There are six left-foot flip flops in my front porch… and they all smell like hockey bags.

It is time for September.


poop-emojis-big-poopEvery morning, I place my hand inside a small plastic bag and use my makeshift glove to pick up dog poop. On good days, Buster the Schnauzer kindly produces solid, log-like poops. On other days, he is not so kind.  This is the price I pay for having a dog. Do I enjoy cleaning up after him? Definitely not. But it’s only a few minutes of grossness in return for my enjoyment of his endlessly amusing antics and unconditional love.

There is a little crap in every relationship.

My husband is cranky for a solid hour when he first wakes up, my children are genetically incapable of picking laundry off the floor, and my dearest friend is perpetually 30-minutes late. I cannot control these things any more than I can control Buster the Schnauzer’s bowel movements. And since I am rather fond of my spouse, my daughters, and my best-y, it would seem short sighted to separate myself from them in order to avoid such minor irritations.

It must also be pointed out that I produce a fair bit of crap myself. I talk too much (constantly), drink too much (occasionally), and react loudly to any situation involving the -isms (e.g. sexism, racism, Republican-ism). My hair perpetually clogs the sink in our upstairs bathroom, I claim all money found in the dryer as my own, and I will drain someone else’s glass of water if I am thirsty.

We all have crap.

I suspect that those people who loudly proclaim that they “don’t put up with any crap” are very lonely.  I believe the secret to happiness rests not in avoiding crap but rather, in finding effective ways to deal with it. I cannot stop Buster the Schnauzer from pooping in the grass but I can make sure I always have a plastic bag in my pocket.

So I try not to have in-depth conversations with my husband in the morning. I pick one day of the week to insist that my girls clean their rooms and try to let it go the rest of the week. And I lie to my friend about the start times for movies.

I also do my best to minimize my own crap. I bought a snake-like device from Canadian Tire for getting hair out of drains, put a money jar on top of the dryer, and started lugging a water bottle around with me.   And I recently kept myself from responding to a clearly misogynistic facebook post (although that damn near killed me and I know that I cannot maintain that degree of restraint long-term without dire health consequences).

Adjustments aside, I have accepted that I come with a little crap. For example, I plan to be buried with a mid-price Malbec (Just sayin’).  And I suspect that I will always be a talker (I am from a long line of talkers).

I say a silent thank-you every day for the friends and loved ones who seem to find my crap endearing, or at least tolerable.   And to those friends and loved ones, I solemnly vow to also tolerate their crap (and to find at least some of it endearing) because…

Love means never having to say you’re sorry… just for being a little crappy.


52.jpgIn many cultures (NOT including mine), people seek out the wisdom of their Elders and on the morning of my 52nd birthday, I have arisen feeling wise. So, while absolutely NO ONE is seeking my wisdom, I am choosing to share it anyway.

Here are 52 things I know at age 52 (presented in random order because, at age 52, “random” is how my wisdom flows):

  1. A crying child should always be given a cookie.
  2. There are very few truly evil people in the world. But there are a lot of fools and they are just as dangerous.
  3. No room needs a white rug.
  4. There have always been bullies. The internet didn’t create them. It just made it harder to ignore them.
  5. Don’t ask for help if you can’t live with imperfection.
  6. If it is made of cotton it will shrink in the dryer. Period.
  7. Wine is good.
  8. Fart jokes are always funny.
  9. You can insist on having a child clean their own room. Or you can have a clean room. You cannot have both.
  10. It is better to be fat than hungry.
  11. The best scent on earth is the smell of a freshly bathed baby.
  12. If you need unconditional love, get a dog. Romantic love should have conditions.
  13. Everyone should be a feminist. Period.
  14. “Sorry” should always be a complete sentence. Don’t add “but”.
  15. Never trust a person who buys uncomfortable furniture.
  16. We all stress out too much over fruit flies.
  17. If the thought of watching another person clip their toenails turns you off, don’t get married.
  18. If you are wondering if you cooked enough pasta … the answer is “No”.
  19. You cannot be happy if your feet are cold.
  20. Sensible people are always appreciated but seldom asked to parties.
  21. Airports are designed by sadists.
  22. Bubble baths are delightful.
  23. Everyone should own a pair of Roots sweatpants.
  24. Avoid taking small children to restaurants that do not have crayons.
  25. Marry the person who makes you laugh the hardest.
  26. No one knows where the phone charger went. NO ONE. Don’t bother asking.
  27. Splurge on shoes.
  28. Spellcheck does not replace good spelling skills.
  29. Beach cover-ups are the best clothing invention EVER.
  30. American Republicans are scary.
  31. Sometimes you need potato chips.
  32. The flowers you buy yourself are often the most beautiful.
  33. Nothing spoils a walk with a friend like knowing they are “counting” the steps on their Fitbit.
  34. Nothing fun every happened at an event where you felt the need to wear Spanx.
  35. A house filled with love will probably have pet fur on the sofa.
  36. Women and men have completely different ideas of what “busy” looks like.
  37. An appliance with a one-year warranty will not break until month 13.
  38. Sometimes you need dessert. Even if you haven’t had dinner.
  39. A mother knows when her child hurts. Always.
  40. There is only one sure-fire way to make sure you always fit into your favourite jeans. Buy jeans that fit.
  41. Every woman deserves a pedicure.
  42. There should always be ice cream in your freezer.
  43. If you made the meal, someone else should do the dishes.
  44. Always pack more underwear than you think you will need.
  45. There is something un-nerving about people who don’t watch television.
  46. The world might have more vegetarians if it were not for pigs. Pigs are delicious.
  47. Everyone should sing, at least in the shower.
  48. No one’s romantic relationship is as great as they pretend it is.
  49. It is always happy hour somewhere.
  50. You can teach an old dog new tricks.
  51. Fun things seldom happen in tidy rooms.
  52. No one should cook on their birthday.

angryemojiI am not an angry person. In fact, it might be said that I possess a rather good sense of humour about life and the inconveniences that sometimes go with it. However, there are a few things that I just can’t develop a tolerance for – irritations that crawl under my flesh like fire ants.

My Top 10 list:

  1. The cost of popcorn at the movies (Seriously… How is that mark-up not a criminal offense?)
  2. Drivers who tailgate (Get. Off. My. Ass!)
  3. Restaurants that are scrimp-y with the wine (I don’t care how great the ambiance is.. bring me a grown-up-woman glass of wine or kiss my business good-bye)
  4. Leaky milk cartons
  5. People who put cheese back in the fridge improperly wrapped (And No… just folding over the end of the opened cheese wrapper will not work.  In the history of mankind, just folding over the end of the opened cheese wrapper has NEVER worked!)
  6. Peaches (the fruit that moves from under-ripe to over-ripe in the time it takes to have a pee)
  7. Fitted bed sheets that don’t fit (It’s written on the label for God’s sake! “Fitted”. Not “Almost Fitted” or “Maybe Fitted”. Just saying.)
  8. itunes (Why is it easier to steal music online than it is to buy it honestly?)
  9. Phone support messages (Press 1 for English. Press 1,2,3…9 for your help “options” which will be read to you super slowly… so that you will undoubtedly be unable to remember 1-4 by the time the automated voice gets to 9. Press # to repeat. Press 0 to hear the message telling you that you have pushed an incorrect option… Argh!)
  10. Hipster coffee service (I can make dinner for a family of 5 in less time that it takes a white-boy-with-dreadlocks to fill an eco-friendly paper cup with medium roast)

I could easily lengthen this list by adding on some of the “Improved” Things that Drive Me Nuts, like:

  • Front-end-loading washing machines (If you have one… you know what I mean)
  • Water-saving toilets (Is it really saving water if I have to flush three times?)
  • Energy-efficient dishwashers (They save energy by working at the pace of a 90-year-old marathoner. You start it before you go to bed and pray the coffee mugs will be clean by morning)
  • Complicated coffee makers (I just want to pour water in the top and have coffee come out the bottom. I should not need to leave the instruction manual on the counter!)
  • Gluten-free versions of foods that are supposed to be made with gluten (“Gluten-free” is code for “dry with a vague aftertaste of stamp-glue”)
  • Cable Packages (So I now require post-secondary training in order to unravel the possible channel groupings and the accompanying pricing. Yet I still can’t get Game of Thrones unless I sacrifice a significant portion of my grocery budget and at least one of my kids stops playing sports)
  • Wireless Speakers (Please just give me something with an ATTACHED power cord that plugs into a wall outlet and cannot ‘disappear’ into the cord/charger abyss that is my home)

The more I think about the things that irritate me, the longer the list becomes. And the longer the list becomes, the more irritated I get. It’s an evil cycle, really. If you aren’t careful, it is easy to become one of those people who looks at a Christmas tree and only sees the single burnt out bulb. And you don’t want to become one of THOSE people… because they are really irritating!


img_8530So it’s 2016. And there is a full page in Canadian Living magazine dedicated to the “Working GIRL”, filled with wonderful ways for us GIRLS to mix “ladylike glamour and modern functionality”. How delightful!

Just the other day, as I was reviewing my corporate yearend with the accountant, he mentioned my lack of “ladylike glamour”. At the time, I was inclined to stuff a calculator up his behind, but now I see that he was just being diligent. Clearly, I have been neglecting my “ladylike glamour”.

A quick scan of the article tells me that “ladylike glamour” requires warm-toned metals, faux marble, and fresh white accents. How enlightening.

Upon closer perusal, I find an opportunity to “tuck small office supplies out of site” in something referred to as a “luxe globe-shaped box”. It looks like a large gold apple to me. Not sure how I would fit it into my briefcase, but I suppose that’s just a silly thought. What would a working GIRL need with a briefcase, once she was enshrined in “ladylike glamour”?

At the top of the page is an image that looks rather like a Monet painting, but I see that it is not just art. No indeed… apparently it is a removable decal I can use to “wrap my laptop in colour”. How fabulous!!! What a wonderful ice-breaker for those situations in which I turn up in a boardroom filled with middle-aged men (note: more than 75% of Fortune 500 board members are still male). Because nothing says capable businesswoman like a pink and red impressionist laptop cover.

There is also an “elegant small-scale metal bookcase” which is “perfect for tight spaces”. Strong implication that the average working GIRL will be in a teensy little cubby somewhere at the back of the building… not necessarily inaccurate but sad to see it assumed.

To the female editor-in-chief of Canadian Living magazine (Jes Watson) I say…. seriously?!? Are “working GIRL” and “ladylike glamour” phrases you feel represent your magazine in the 21st century? Because I am pretty sure I am your target demographic. I am a parent. I love to cook. And I enjoy a good magazine in the tub (the last bastion of magazine reading, since no one wants to drop their iphone into the bubbles!).

Yet… as a grown-ass WOMAN in 2016 I feel secure saying that I can cope with the loss of this subscription. And should I find myself in need of warm-toned metals, faux marble, or fresh white accents, I am sure I can find them online. Good bye Canadian Living.

Note: I wrote to the editor-in-chief regarding this article and must note that I received a prompt, personal response including the reasoning behind the article’s title and acknowledgement that “ladylike” was not an ideal word choice…

“I’m so sorry to hear you didn’t like our verbiage for this story. Sarah was making reference to the 1988 Melanie Griffith movie in her headline, and we felt it was clever in the context of showcasing a home office. As for the word “ladylike,” we wanted to convey the sense of women being able to have “a room of one’s own,” but you’re very right that there have been a better word choice. I’m so sorry you felt we missed the mark—we’ll keep your feedback in mind when writing future stories.”


meh-mugI care a lot about a lot of things. Global warming, oil spills, natural disasters, and the terrifying thought of Trump as president of the United States. These things make me wake up sweating in the middle of the night. My insomnia might also be caused by menopause but I prefer to think that it is related to my intellectual depth. I also fret about the health of my children, the success of my business activities, and whether or not I will ever have enough money to replace the vinyl siding on my house with wood shingles.  

Despite these worries, it seems that I am positively carefree when compared to many of my contemporaries. For example, I glide through my days with nary a thought about who might be eliminated from America’s Got Talent or The Amazing Race or Taylor Swift’s posse of gal pals. I have not lost a wink of sleep pondering the fate of John Snow’s character from Game of Thrones. And while I wish the best to whoever are currently The Bachelor and The Bachelorette, I am decidedly apathetic when it comes to their selection of mates.

I worry about wrinkles… except in July and August when I might just lay on my back deck like a turtle on a rock and let those toxic UV rays soak right into my epidermis.

I worry about my diet… except when I am hungry. When I am hungry I care only about ease of access. So if there is cut up watermelon in the fridge I will snack on it but if it’s still a giant orb of uncut fruit I will close the refrigerator door and eat nachos instead.

I have also discovered that I don’t care about anything enough to “track” it. The Fitbit seemed like fun for about an hour but now lives at the bottom of my underwear drawer beneath a pile of un-used thongs. The DietTracker app on my cell phone held my attention for less than a week because I got sick of recording every cup of coffee (30 calories). And I turned off the twitter-feed for everything related to weather because I just don’t care enough about the statistical probability of a storm currently tracking off the coast of Florida making its way up the coast to Nova Scotia. Just give me an hour’s warning so I have time to get to the liquor store.

I think I cared more when I was younger. I recall using a sick day to stay home and watch General Hospital because Luke and Laura were on the cusp of finally getting together and I needed to be in front of my television when it happened. And I remember several years when I put real thought into my Halloween costumes. Slutty nurse… slutty Grecian goddess… slutty firefighter… so many choices!

A million cliff-hangers and costume parties later, I have reached a different place in life. Note: Halloween costuming has been reduced to popping on a headband with devil horns and putting my wine in a plastic goblet that looks like it is filled with blood. It’s not that I don’t care about such things, it’s just that I don’t care enough.

That’s why I don’t buy anything that has to be drycleaned. Because I know myself. Once that sweater or dress or whatever it is becomes dirty, it’s going to lay on my closet floor for a loooong time. And if I manage to muster enough enthusiasm to take it to a drycleaner, it’s going to live there for a loooong time because out of sight is out of mind.

The list of things I don’t care enough about is endless. And I am blessed with a mother-in-law who cares enough to remind me of each item on this list. On a typical visit to my home, she will graciously point out that I should, among other things:

  • Re-organize my kitchen cupboards (and perhaps clean them up a bit as well),
  • Throw out the tattered jeans my husband keeps wearing,
  • Do something about my youngest child’s table manners,
  • Stop the cat from walking on my countertops,
  • Program the universal remote so that we don’t need three ‘clickers’ in order to watch television,
  • Deal with the fruit fly situation,
  • Start pre-washing the plates before putting them in the dishwasher,
  • Stop putting carving knives, pots, pans, plastic ware, and spatulas in the dishwasher, and
  • Make everyone hang up their coats

I totally agree with her. And I care about making her happy. I just don’t care enough. Although, on a positive note, my cat has developed an avid interest in fruit flies and spends hours sitting on the countertop, swatting them off the fruit bowl… so that’s something!


canada-heart-flagIn Canada, being “full of yourself” is frowned upon and “tooting your own horn” is practically a criminal offense. So on Canada Day, I wasn’t surprised to find facebook filled with funny, self-deprecating video clips and posts about what it means to be Canadian.

For my part, I am feeling more patriotic than usual this year. Watching American politics has made me acutely appreciative of my country and my fellow citizens, and the things that we hold dear. We are beer and poutine and fur-lined hats with ear-flaps. But we are also much more…

According to a report from the Reputation Institute (2015), Canada is the most reputable country in the world, based on a variety of environmental, political, and economic factors.

We welcome new Canadians. 20% of Canadians are foreign-born, which is the highest percentage of all G8 countries. And we rank among the best countries in the world for integration, according to the 2015 Migrant Integration Policy Index.

We are seriously funny! In fact, Montreal’s annual Just for Laughs Festival is the world’s largest comedy festival.

We are the most polite people on earth. A recent Queen’s University poll found that 90% of adult Canadians will immediately apologize if a stranger bumps into them! Sorry if that upsets any non-Canadians.

We are well-educated. The OECD Education at a Glance report (2014) says 54% of Canadian adults have a post-secondary qualification, which is the highest share in the OECD countries, where the average is 34%. Pretty impressive, eh?

We are truly “nice”. Take a look at this visual comparison between US tweets and Canadian tweets.


We legalized same-sex marriage a long time ago. Same-sex couples have been getting married in Canada since 2005. Note to our neighbours to the South… It is no big deal… pull it together and join us in the 21st century!

We are super sexy! Have you met our Prime Minister ?!?

So today I am hanging up a giant Canadian flag, which I bought at the 100% Canadian-owned Canadian Tire! I am going to slather on a mountain of sunscreen from the 100% Canadian-owned Shopper’s Drug Mart. And I am going to hit a pub and down some 100% Canadian Labatt’s beer… Because I AM PROUD TO BE CANADIAN!

Cordelia's Mom, Still

Just Good Reading!

Trust Communications Inc.

We help organizations create great online learning experiences

Nenes Life

Scratchpad Collections

The life of a 40 something

Occasionally focused, invariably opinionated, sometimes inspired

See More

Thinking about things from a different perspective.

Lesley Choyce

music | poetry | surfing

Are You Finished Yet?

and stuff I'm figuring out on my own

Natalia Antonova

The sky is high. The Czar is far.


Welcome to a blog full of mostly incoherent, irrelevant ramblings by a fresh faced twenty two year old law graduate from Exeter, facing what can only be described as a quarter life crises having moved back home.


Age Is An Attitude

Uncle Spike's Adventures

Photography ~ Travel ~ Comment : Life based on a small farm in rural Türkiye

ann tygett jones

original illustrations and paintings


Funny but true stories from the school to the burbs.

Keep Your Feet

It's a dangerous business, going out your door...

Stuff my dog taught me

and stuff I'm figuring out on my own

The happy Quitter!

It started when I gave up smoking and went from there!

Heavy Little People

The haps and mishaps of a bunch of badly drawn little folks who all vaguely resemble monkey nuts for some reason.

Hugh's Views & News

A Man with Dyslexia writing about this and that and everything else!


humor. run. jog. walk. wog

The Seeker's Dungeon

Troubling the Surf with the Ocean

Bridget Jones- Eat Your Heart Out

The confessions of a girl who smokes too much, drinks too much and once shat in a coconut.

Henna Writes

Making things about ten times more awkward than they need to be since 1991.

A Game of Diapers

Strategic Parenting From A Working Mother Of Three

Linda G. Hill

Life in progress

--- Grumpy Comments ---


Beautiful Life with Cancer

Discovering the Gift

%d bloggers like this: