confession time

  • black pen on white writing spring notebook between white ipad and white ceramic mug with latte on white plate
    blogging,  confession time,  Random Shit

    New Name, New Design…Older Me

    It’s been a LONG time since I have posted. Partly because 2022 was a shit-show. And 2021. And 2020, if we’re gonna be honest. The other reason is because Momma On The Rocks has been held together by bubble gum, pipe cleaners, and a whole lot of hope for far too long now. Unfortunately, I’d been quoted big money to fix it, and while I really, really intended to get it updated – I just couldn’t find the bandwidth to do it. Time got…lets just say it REALLY got away from me. I am not technically minded and trying to fix the website broke a friend who has skills. We…

  • confession time,  Motherhood

    On Accomplishments, Goals, and Donuts

    On the internet, the question has been (repeatedly) raised: “There’s only ONE MONTH left in the decade. What are your accomplishments? “ This question has been weighing on my mind, and perhaps if it had been worded differently, as in “what have you done” versus “what are your accomplishments”, it wouldn’t niggle at me so (and yes, I’m that nitpicky.) If I had been asked “what have you DONE” I could say I lived in the UK, I traveled throughout Europe, I moved to Texas, I went to the American Music Awards (thank you, Kohl’s), I wrote a lot of blog posts, was published in an anthology and on Mamalode,…

  • one word
    blogging,  confession time

    One Word for 2019: Re-Engage

    Resolutions? Pffft. Not this girl. Give me One Word to focus on. I am not the girl for resolutions. Like most, I burst out of the gate with enthusiasm and energy…and then by March, those resolutions are cast aside like the photos from 2013 I printed in 2015 that still wait to be placed lovingly in photo albums. A few years ago I came across the idea of choosing just one word that I can focus on all year long, one that can guide my goals, big and small. My word was “thrive” in 2015, “cultivate” in 2016, and in 2017 it was “conquer“. I confess while I chose “moxie”…

  • surrender
    confession time

    Surrender (Or, When a Tweezer Leads You Astray)

    Forget it. I give up. I surrender. Some days, my focus is there and I can write like a demon. Other days? There’s a chin hair that I keep playing with. And my desk is cluttered. And I have words in my head that are coming out all wrong, or not at all. I stare at my laptop. I fight to stay focused. And then I give up. I go to my car, pull out of the garage – and grab the car tweezers, because, seriously, is there any better light than in the front seat of your car looking in the visor mirror? (And yes, I have car tweezers…

  • confession time,  Motherhood

    On Swimsuit Shopping and other Mortifications

    My new neighborhood is rife with the activity of new pools being built and existing pools being serviced, signs that summer is approaching. Which, in turn, means I will have to put on a swim suit. Confession #1: I hate swim suit shopping. I would rather walk barefoot through a pit of Legos while listening to Kenny G songs played by tone-deaf 6th grade beginner band clarinets than shop for swimsuits. Confession #2: I have been wearing the same two swimsuits since about 2009, the year after my daughter was born. In that time, I have gained weight, and lost it, gained again and lost again. If you look at…

  • confession time

    No Grudges Here

    There are many things you can say about me, but one thing you’ll never say is “Boy, can she hold a grudge.” I’ve never been able to hold a grudge, not even when I am really, really mad. Not even when I’m never going to speak to them again, not ever mad. Seriously. I once worked for a manager who was infuriating. He was pretty belittling, always second-guessing me in front of senior managers, and when I was right, he would make it sound like I was the one who was doubtful of the issue/question/answer. I worked in a position where I had constant client contact on the phone, and as it could…

  • confession time,  Motherhood

    It’s Official. I’m Old. Technology said so.

    I will be the first to admit that I’m not up on the latest technology present in television sets. Oh, sure – I was quick to try out the iPod, the iPad, the now gone Flip camera (which I STILL use, mostly because I misjudged the amount of storage needed on my iPhone so I can barely have memory for a photo let alone a 2 minute ballet performance.) But I am not an aficionado when it comes to televisions. Once upon a time, I was proud that I kept up with technology as a whole. I’m an early adopter – I had a Palm Pilot when they first came out (do you remember those?) even…

  • confession time,  Motherhood

    On Putting Myself First . Or Fifty-second.

    I suck at putting myself first. Or second. Or fifty-second, for that matter. Is this a mom thing? Or just me. As I lay on the table at my physical therapy appointment on Wednesday, the therapist attacking my leg (technically, my iliotibial band, which I still haven’t actually located anatomically yet) with what looks like a bumpy rolling-pin stick of evil, commenting on how this really is one of their more torturous tasks – which I would wholeheartedly agree with if I could get my gritted teeth to separate, instead grunting in agreement – and I had to ask myself: “How did it come to this?” From my twenties to mid-thirties, I…

  • confession time

    Seasonal Ineffective Disorder

    I have a confession to make: I didn’t decorate my house for Easter. Or for Valentine’s Day. Or Thanksgiving. Or Halloween. Let me rephrase that: I didn’t decorate much. As in, I put out a themed candy dish filled with appropriately colored M&M’s, ate them all myself, then didn’t refill out of guilt. I also bought an appropriately themed runner or two for my new kitchen hutch, but that was done more with the idea of adding color. I also put out two really tired decorations that I “discovered” while unpacking. They are molting fake moss all over the tables and are missing a few eggs; the bunny has a…

  • confession time

    Thank goodness for Elves and great-grandfathers (dead or alive).

    Two days into December, and I forget to move the elf. And it’s ok, for a change. Let me explain… The night before, shortly after putting the kids to bed, we hear sobs coming from upstairs. Listening, we determine it is Miss M, who was tired but seemingly fine just minutes before.  Confused, I make my way to her bedside, and it takes a good five minutes of cajoling and soothing and shushing to get her calmed down enough to even speak. “Mommy, I don’t want to sleep alone anymore!” (This coming from the girl whose slept in her own room since birth.) I asked her why she felt this…