Wisdom from Trader Joe's

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Building Community with a Non-binding Vote

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As my little blog has now earned its first pennies, I thought it time to spend more than 3,000% of my earnings on business cards while simultaneously keeping my day job. However, here is where you, dear reader, can contribute and show your love for my continued reflections and rantings. Here, you can take a moment of your precious life to vote on which style of card from the "Elegent" list on Vistaprint best embodies the style, mood, and tone of my illustrious blog.  Yes, I know what you're thinking. How could one tiny rectangle of heavyweight cardstock possibly do justice to all that my blog contains? Well, obviously, or at least hopefully, it can't, but at least you can have some input as to which example does the least crappy job. I will take all votes into consideration, then do whatever I want to do anyway. Artists and writers are fickle and capricious like that. And with all seriousness, thank you for reading my blog. It brings me great joy to know that...
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Existential Housing Crisis

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A friend of mine recently posted on Facebook that she had, " determined there is no discernible difference between being a first-time home buyer and having an existential crisis." I think she just about hit the nail on the head with that one. I wish her luck in her quest, but can offer no satisfactory response to her 21st century housing crisis. And yet, I muse on. There is no practical way that I am ready to buy a house. I can barely keep the living conditions in my apartment under control. What with work and children and laundry and four trips to urgent care in the month of May alone, I am already well beyond my zone of proximal development. Yet I dream of owning my own home. When houses in my neighborhood go up for sale, I drive past them slowly, longingly, dreaming of the lives of the people who live there and imagining myself opening the front door to visitors, walking my older son to school, and choosing my own native-inspired, drought-resistant landscaping. Th...
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Victims of Anger

Angry people do angry things. They throw papers off of the table, Scatter dinner across the floor, And refuse to brush their teeth, Unconcerned by the consiquences. The older one sings a song Despite requests for quiet. He repeats, louder each time, Disrupting the ever-shrinking peace. The small one cries. Not the cry of the sad, but the cry of the angry. Angry that he is small; angry that he cannot speak, And his anger seethes out, staining the hopeful darkness of the night. No one rests. No one sleeps. Everyone lives in the angry, vengeful rage. And yet, we still dream of sleep... Peaceful, restorative sleep. Perhaps, one day, it will come, As easily as the sunset, As quiet as the moon. Until then, we suffer, Victims of our own choices. Victims of the children we were born to love.
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