Are We There Yet?
We have been pet-free for several years, much to my children’s dismay.
After our last remaining cat died in 2007, we took a break.
Excuse rolled over onto excuse: We’ll get a new one when the kids are a little older ... after we get back from vacation ... as soon as we get through this busy period at work.
Truth is, I was tired of hairballs and litter boxes.
There once was a girl with a duct-tape dress. She had a matching duct-tape hat.
She sat in a duct-tape chair by her duct-tape rug. She had duct-tape flowers in her hair and duct-tape shoes on her feet and carried a duct-tape wallet in her duct-tape purse.
Fairy tale? No, it’s all too real. Just check Pinterest.
You may remember a certain homemade baseball field I wrote about in early August, built on several empty lots in Savoy’s Prairie Fields subdivision by five enterprising Little Leaguers.
Since then, “Prairie Field” has shrunk a bit. And it’s now a gridiron.
Note: This column originally ran in the Sept. 17 News-Gazette.
I came home the other night to find my computer full of links to sports stats and online draft information.
This is not unusual; I have lived with a sportswriter for almost 20 years.
My name is Julie, and I am a clutter-holic.
I have written several times about the clutter pileup in my life. I blame it on my work (paper-intensive), my children (megastuff), my schedule (frenetic) and life in general.
Picture this: Summer day, 70 degrees and sunny, a group of boys playing baseball on a homemade field, radio blaring in the background.
No uniforms, cleats or coaches in sight. Just a bunch of kids making up rules and running basepaths outlined in spray paint, with a plywood backstop.
Signs that our children have entered the tween/teen years: dinner conversations include talk of piercings and tattoos.
So far it’s just curiosity. The idea of more needles poking into their skin doesn’t appeal to them. But it’s clear that pierced ears are on our horizon.
My son, who turned 13 in April, is taking on more and more responsibilities these days, which I think we all would agree is a good thing. Most of the time.
Many cultures consider 13-year-olds to be on the verge of adulthood, with confirmations, bar mitzvahs, the works.
I do not believe those ceremonies involve lawn mowers.
I came home the other day to find underwear hanging in the carport.
We did not host a block party gone wild.