Sounds Like a Personal Problem: Why I don’t care if logging on to your social media alerted you to GoT spoilers.

Pretty sure it goes without saying, but yeah, there’s gunna be some Game of Thrones spoilers up in here.

So, yesterday was my birthday. And the overlords at Home Box Office inadvertently gave me the best present ever. They aired the episode of Game of Thrones in which Arya Stark kills Petyr Baelish.

I, in my elation (and because he was a fucking prick), posted about it on my Facebook with the following status update:

“A collective ‘FUCKING FINALLY’ from literally everyone. Good riddance, Littlefinger. May you rot in hell. This was the best goddamn birthday present I could’ve ever asked for.”

I posted after the episode aired, that same night.

Fast forward to 4:30am in my attempts at coaxing R back to sleep. Casually perusing my Facebook alerts while she doses on my shoulder (there were way more alerts than usual, like I said, yesterday was my birthday) and then I see a new comment attached to my post.

To preface this, I’d had a comment earlier that a friend knew he shouldn’t have logged on because he knew he’d run into spoilers, but he wasn’t annoyed. More at himself than anything.

With this new comment I didn’t expect anything in particular. But what I read from a guy a very briefly dated in high school and have spoken to maybe once since was, “same, why post this the night of?!?”

Okay. Let me lay this down for you. I have opinions, absolutely. Everyone does. Duh. Let’s talk political for a second. Many of my opinions are NOT favored by my contemporaries. As a millennial, I’m expected to be a liberal, outspoken, feminist; you know, fight the patriarchy.

On the contrary, actually. I identify with much more conservative ideas. I do not consider myself a feminist (not because feminism is bad, because it’s not, but for reasons I can go into another time). I am, however, outspoken. Now, with this in mind, back to my commenter.

My reply to this man-child was this:

“While I am sorry that you didn’t watch in a timely manner, your lack of preparedness does not sentence me to silence. If you were not expecting there to be any information about the season finale of a cultural phenomenon like Game of Thrones somewhere in the bowels of your social media, it would appear that you do not understand the platform. Don’t like it? Don’t look. Easy enough.”

Seriously, people. It’s social media. By definition it is forms of electronic communication through which a user creates online communities to share information, ideas, personal messages, and other content (thanks, Merriam-Webster).

The attitude that I am at fault because you ruined a show you like to watch for yourself after it’s already aired at the established day and time simply because you chose to log onto a social media platform prior to having viewed said show, annoys me to no end. And I get *SPOILER ALERT* warnings, I just think they’re unnecessary. As before, if you couldn’t get it together to watch at the date and time established by the airing network, that seems like a personal problem. Just don’t log on. There’s no law that says you need to check Facebook 37 times a day. Unplug. Don’t silence me simply because you can’t get your act together.

So, yeah. You probably guessed it. I don’t care that by choosing to log on to your social media networks, you ruined a show you like to watch. Not my couch, not my problem.

An Ode to Autumn

Our Summer ’17 has nearly reached its end. I can feel the fall weather creeping its way into the New England air. Particularly this week, the awkward week between when summer child care ends and they clean for the new school year that starts Monday. Kindergarten for A. It’s going to be a big year for him. I can’t talk about it too much or I’ll find myself crying.

Regardless, as it was the start of the last week of summer C and I do alternating days off because while schools refuse to take your kids for this week, your corporate job will never be kind enough to just GIVE you the days off, you have to figure it out. It was abnormally muggy for this time of year so I decided to pull out the inflatable pool for one last hurrah.

A was beside himself. Flip flopping back and forth between, “oh, thank you Mom!” and, “eww, bugs! I’m NOT going in,” I found myself getting annoyed. I went to all this trouble of finding that darn air pump thingy that inflates it in like 5 minutes and then inflating it, patching it, filling it, etc, etc. and you’re complaining! Ugh.

And then I looked over at R.

My agreeable second child. But really only because she doesn’t know better. And doesn’t have the voice to vocalize those opinions. And I realized that A used to be just as agreeable. And then he’s growing. And maturing. And formulating his own opinions. And he needs help to kind of rein in those emotions that can so easily get out of hand. He’s turning 5 in just 4 short weeks. And he’s still that loving and agreeable boy, who’s trying so desperately hard to figure out how to grow up too. Each autumn he gets just another year older, and another year wiser, and another year closer to needing me less. And as the autumn inches ever closer, it is constantly reminding me to be a guide, not a force, in his little life.

So here’s to you autumn, with your coming, comes mine and my babies’ birthdays. And their growing up. And mine too.


I left it on the counter. Again.
I left it on the bedside table while I folded laundry. Again.
Somehow I managed to leave it on the windowsill in the bathroom. Again.
All the while chasing down the tiny humans that are the reason I brew the damned stuff to begin with.
I am forever drinking lukewarm coffee.

I've been MIA, I know. Life is hard. And writing simply wasn't #1 on the priority list.
Also, C and I have been having some pretty noteworthy binge watching sessions of Shameless that have really been my nighttime past time, but are you really keeping track?
Apparently you are. I actually went back and looked at my stats and I've had a pretty steady stream of visitors and readers despite my blatant disregard for this blog in the past few weeks, so I'm going to go ahead and say thank you guys for that one. It makes me ridiculously glad you're all enjoying the word vomit I attempt to pass off as writing. Mainly because that's really all I know.
I tend to have social media ADHD. I jump back and forth between the one that peaks my interest at that particular moment and sometimes just plain forget about all the rest.
I've been all about Instagram lately. That whole photography thing. Plus, it's getting to be then end up summer and the lighting at night is just so perfect.
Even my A and R are cooperating these days. So I'll take it while I can get it.
So if you're interested in seeing what else I do when I'm not here, Instagram is probably the place to do it. tribetodd for those that care to put a visual to my crazy ramblings.
Thanks for sticking with me, all.

Nighttime musing while caring for tiny humans

It’s late. 

Or maybe it’s early. 

I don’t know. Either way I’ll keep this brief. 

Kids are such a roller coaster. One minute they’re cute and cuddly and just want to hug you and watch Moana. The next, they’re just screaming their faces off about how they wanted popcorn and buncha crunch, not popcorn and gummy bears for movie night (seriously, I promise I’m at least a decent parent). 

And when they finally go to bed, you find yourself maybe a little relieved. And then, if you’re like me, you feel the guilt seep in. 

You go to bed, feeling like dirt, determined to make it up to them tomorrow. 

But when the monitor goes off at 2am and all you hear is their scared crying because of the ridiculous thunder storm outside, you groggily race up the stairs stubbing your toe on the baby gates that you forget how to work with you sleep deprived brain, scoop them up into your arms, and immediately feel the tension in their little bodies release. Their little eyes don’t even need the glow of the nightlight to know that it’s you. You’re their safe place. And they lay their little heads down on your chest and heave the most satisfied big little sigh you’ve ever heard. 

You don’t need to “make it up to them”. Regardless of the temper tantrums, and the pouty lips, and the tears, they know you’re always there. You’re their safe space, and they can act out for you and at you because they know, even at the end of the hardest day, you’re going to love the shit out of them anyway. 

So on that note, I’ll just sit here a while longer and enjoy my cuddles. I can sleep tomorrow. 

Just a little stroll down memory lane

Ah, social media. 

It can build you up or kick you down in the most unexpected of ways. And those “Facebook memories”, man, those get me every damn time. 

Today’s was definitely on of my top 3 memories. Really probably third. Yeah, third. First is the day that the picture of C meeting A for the first time in his hospital bed pops up. 

Be still my heart. 

Second is going to have to be the day the picture of C, A and I meeting Prince Harry pops up. Not because we’re meeting Prince Harry (which I still think is still pretty cool for Americans. Maybe for Brits too, I don’t know.) but because A is maybe 8 months old, attempting to rip the prince’s hair out of his head, while I’m trying to pry his chubby little fingers away from his head while we all smile for the camera. 

My child is absolutely savage. I apologized profusely and he was super nice about it. I’m just surprised I didn’t get tackled by the security personnel with the stabby eyes behind me…

And third is today. Not because it’s wildly important to me (it was certainly impressive) but because it was like THE COOLEST thing that had ever happened to C. ESPN ran a story about him. In his head this means he hit the pinnacle of the sports world by reaching ESPN status. And truthfully, the article isn’t completely about him, by any means. It’s about an organization he worked with for fundraising for vets through sports. (I apologize for the vague explaination, I’m not sure I’m ready to give out a too much information just because, well, privacy, kind of. Maybe I’ll come back and post a link to the article when I’m feeling braver.) 

He was the happiest person when that article ran. And that’s what makes me happiest. He had a smile plastered on his face for daaaays. And that’s sort of the whole point of social media for me. I don’t like people, so I don’t really use it to talk to them. For me, it’s a scrap book for pictures of my kids, and the happy memories. 

Do you have a favorite “memory”?

“I’m just quippy.”

My go to line when people tell me I should write. I’m just quippy. I’m sassy. Sarcasm is a second language.


I got told again last night that I should make a blog. Granted, it was my mother in law and she’s a truly fantastic cheerleader, but it still felt good to hear that someone *anyone* thinks I’m funny.

Here’s why it came up: I’m completely binge listening to a podcast I recently found called My Favorite Murder. Yep. You read that right. I’m completely fascinated by serial killers and the psyche behind it. And listening to the two hosts, Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark, is basically the same as sitting in the same room as two California-living versions of myself.

I introduced my mother in law to the podcast and we really enjoy discussing it together. One of the things they do is your “hometown murders” which seems to be one of those things that everyone has. I actually have one where I served the murderer when I was a bar tender back in GA (Gawd, I sound so crazy right now) and I sent it in to them. I forwarded the email to my mother in law. Her response was more of the feel-good cheerleading that everyone loves to hear, “OMG THAT’S AWESOME!!!!! THEY WILL SOOOO READ THAT! YES IM YELLING!!!”

We chatted for another minute or two and then went about our work day. I’ve had a really busy week at work and haven’t had time for much else. C took A out to dinner and ice cream for their Friday guys night, while R and I stayed home. They were still out shortly after I got R into bed so I decided to have a glass of wine and peruse my social media and maybe listen to an episode of the MFM while the house was quiet.

I sit down, take a sip, then look at my phone. Oh, look, my mother in law texted me while I was getting R ready for bed:

“FYI, I had book club tonight and I was telling everyone about the podcast and I read them your hometown murder and a room full of teachers LOVED your writing….they laughed AND gasped which I assume is what you were going for! We all think you need to do a blog!”

Well… *big sip of wine*… I do.

I chickened out though. So instead I made a comment about how no one would read it. She cheered me on a little more (God love her) before she went to bed.

I think I terrified to admit that I actually just like to write. I’m always scared that someone won’t like what I have to say, or won’t like my opinions or something. Which is silly. Blogging is personal in nature. One of these days I’ll get up the courage to tell people about it. Or share it. Or just own it at all.


Please tell me I’m not the only one who’s a complete chicken about this stuff. Or tell me I’m being ridiculous. Either way.

The 4 Steps I Use to Ask Forgiveness 

Forgiveness can be such a hard thing. For me, especially so since C got hurt. He’s changed since then. Not necessarily in a bad way, just different. In part because of his PTSD. And one of the things that I always have to keep in the back of my mind and navigate is the potential for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder triggers. 

PTSD is one of those things that can be difficult to predict. I can try and avoid triggers, of course, but sometimes something unexpected can trigger. And if you love someone with PTSD, I know you can relate. 

Of the {highly technical} research I’ve done, there’s no blanket reaction one can expect from an individual with PTSD. They can really run the gamut between indifference and rage. It can be difficult. 

1. Let them have their time. Sometimes, they just needs a little while to be mad. And that is completely OK. Approach them after they’ve had some time to cool off. 

2. Apologize. It seems obvious, but if you’ve wronged this person or upset them with your actions, “I’m sorry,” is an important sentiment to put into the conversation. You can’t assume that they know that you’re sorry. 

3. It’s not a matter of “an eye for an eye”. Steer clear of words like “but” or sentence segways. You can’t ask forgiveness by putting the issue back on the one granting forgiveness. Instead, sit down an have an honest discussion. You might be surprised how far it gets you. 

4. Offer restitution. If a physical object was broken, it can be replaced. If something less physical, like trust, was broken, you’ll need to fix that too. Which also means you need to deliver on the restitution you’ve offered. No backsies. 

Its not rocket science, but sometimes we all need a little reminder.