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Tuesday Morning Press 24 — In Which I Attempt to Interview Myself


Yes, you read it right. I’m going to interview myself. I find the concept of offering my thoughts on why I write or who I am to be not unlike walking into a cocktail party only to hear, “HEY! HERE’S A CHEESE SQUARE! ENJOY IT!?” as it nears your face, suspended by a toothpick yielding under pressure as it’s held out by a winsome host.

But this is good cheese. And today I am winsome.

So while I wait for me to show up, I’ll tell you a little about why I’m doing this.

I’d like to thank the craft of writing, in specific, for its generosity. Writing has allowed me to express myself in a way through humor, candor, fiction and other ways that I didn’t really think it could.

Oh, here she is. I can’t believe she’s wearing that. Really? Well, no one ever said writers were fashionistas. No one lied.

Me: Molly, I’m so glad you are able to take some time out of your busy schedule of being a mother to chat with us today. What you do is very demanding, I’m sure.

Other me: Yes, it’s very demanding. This spring in particular has been very difficult, the children —

Me: Yes, we’ll get to them later. What we are all here to learn about is writing and why you do it. Especially publicly. Why not paint? Or just you know, journal.

Other me: Well, ok. If we’re going to be technical, yes, what I write is public, but not everyone reads it.

Me: >snorts< Ya got that right.

Other me: Furrows brow, narrows eyes, purses lips. Right, so because no one, well, not everyone reads it, I still feel relatively safe in expressing myself. I’m also pretty secure in what I write because it’s largely benign and it’s often stream-of-consciousy.

Me: Did you say ‘stream-of-consciousy‘? Aren’t you a little sick of that genre? Don’t you ever plan to … plan or outline what you will write? Don’t you think you’re cheating a little?

Other me: Yes, I do tire of the stream-of-conscious genre, and I have sort of plotted things out, but I also find that when I plot things out, it’s not as exciting to me. I like to see what the page will show me. I did write a 75,000-word book last summer and it’s still in draft mode and I’m not sure it will see the light of day, but learned a lot. I learned that I had to organize my characters, create family trees, give background on characters. Not everyone can just show up on a page; we have people who show up in our lives, but that’s different. In a book, people expect context. In life, we’re more forgiving. I believe I will eventually move forward and self-publish this first book because then I can let it go and do other things.

But no, I’m not cheating. I’m writing and people are reading. Even if it’s only two people.

Me: Moving on. What’s the first book about?

Other me: It’s about growth. In many forms. Lots of authors will say their first book is a type of thinly veiled memoir, and I suppose I’m no different. Pat Conroy’s The Great Santini was his; The Bell Jar was largely considered Sylvia Plath’s memoir. That was Plath’s only book; she was a poet.

Me: Zzzzznzzznzzzznnng.

Other me: Hello? Hey!

Me: Oh, sorry. I didn’t get much sleep last night. I was thinking about why I am writing at all.

Other me: Hey, that’s my line. It’s not for the money, that’s for sure.

Me: Right. Sorry. Straightening in chair, taking a sip of coffee. You were saying… Plath was a poet?

Other me: Yes, she was and while her poetry is profound and wonderful,

Me: >blurts< You’ve never read her poems.

Other me: Fidgeting with hair, twirling it around index finger. I’m sure I’ve read some. In college or — Anyway, I was saying, that we owe a lot to Henry Miller.

Me: You were not. We haven’t gotten there yet. You were talking about Plath. You did read The Bell Jar, remember? Ah, screw it. What about Miller?

Other me: I was reading yesterday about Tropic of Cancer. I’m in a writing group, The Peevish Penman, and we were chatting about banned books and whether we’d read any or what we wish we had. I mentioned Lolita and Tropic of Cancer.

Me: Miller didn’t write Lolita, Molly.

Other me: I know that. Why do you have to be so nasty? I lumped it in with the books I’d not read. Man, lighten up. Anyway, Tropic of Cancer was pretty revolutionary. Miller threw the gloves off, so to speak, when he wrote it. It was the first of its kind. Highly charged, considered obscene, it was the vanguard of what we largely consider to be tell-alls and is very likely the wellspring of the sexual revolution, what we consider modern personal blogging and memoir writing.

Me: Oooh, I can’t wait to get into it. Can you say ‘consider‘ maybe one more time?

Other me: I know, right? Hey! Then edit it out.

Me: So Tropic of Cancer reminds you of your memoir?

Other me: No, not necessarily, because I haven’t read it, remember? But I think its existence has given me the guts, if I will, to go forward and be less fearful of sharing who I am with people. I’m not some repressed Boston Irish Catholic.

Me: You do write fairly personally. I mean, that post on PMDD and your family relationships and other lady stuff is sort of y’know, private. Why do you do that? Don’t you have any dignity?

Other me: I have tons of dignity; but what I’d also like to say I have is guts. Look, I’m not out there being totally explicit and boring and oogey about it; I do have a sense of humor about these things and the fact of the matter is that hormones suck, aging sucks, sometimes our parents suck and if someone doesn’t like it, they can pack up and go home. I’m not for everyone. And I really don’t care. I’m not in this to offend anyone, but I’m sure as hell done trying to please everyone fer crissakes.

Me: Ooooookaaaaay. Sooooo, given that, when will you commit to the book and sort of really get going on it? You do lots of blogging now and I know the social media thing is a huge distraction for you.

Other me: Don’t patronize me. That’s not entirely fair. The social media thing is a distraction by definition and by its mere existence, not by my action. I’m not texting while driving or checking my email constantly or tweeting my face off. When I worked in public relations and merger communications, we had a phrase —

Me: Zzzzzzznnnnznzzznzznznnnnnggngnnnnzzg. Sorry.

Other me: I’ll be brief and this will make sense: the phrase was “Create the Need.” And it was all vapor and glass and mirrors. We would create the need (or someone else would come up with the concept of the product) and then sell it; make it seem as though life without it was absurd, impossible, insane even. Social media is no different than that. You’ve heard of “FOMO” — Fear Of Missing Out? Same thing: it’s the concept that we need social media: that I should be doing more of it, that I should be engaging more in it, that’s the distraction, and it feeds on itself and creates a type of vortex of need. I hate need. I strongly dislike the concept of need. It’s out there, I know; and I’m a needful person at times, but I really believe we are at our best when we are resourceful and active. I don’t need to be a monk on a mountain in Tibet to have a better sense of who and what I can be.

Me: You say that a lot.

Other me: Say what?

Me: That line (dumbing down voice to make me sound like Homer Simpson), ‘be a monk on a mountain in Tibet…’ — that, you say that a lot.

Other me: That’s because I believe it. The bottom line is that no amount of tweeting is gonna make me a better writer. It’s all a façade. It’s a ruse. China doesn’t want us to be productive; China wants us to tweet. I guess I just have to stop preaching and talking about it; stop analyzing it, intending it.

Me: Riiiiiight. The road to hell is paved with good intentions. Stop intending to be good, just Be Good. Stop intending to be a writer, just Be a Writer.

Other me: right. Because it’s all bullshit if you don’t do it. Anyone can talk about it.

Me: It’s the doing that makes it real.

Other me: Right. So what else is in the hopper?

Me: A book about motherhood.

Other me: Oh, no. Really? What? There aren’t enough books about parenting and motherhood and bloggers out there? Really? You think what you have to say hasn’t been said yet? Have you seen the book shelves at Barnes & Noble devoted to funny, poignant, clever and smart mothers?

Me: crawling into a hole. No. I try not to look at them.

Other me: Why? You need to know your market.

Me: Oh, I know my market. Plus, I have to remember why I do any of this.

Other me: FINALLY. We get to the crux of all this. WHY? Why do you do any of this?

Me: Because I can. I’m not in this to get rich.

Other me: Maybe you should be.

Me: I’m rich enough. I have wonderful friends, my health, my children are —

Other me: We’ll get to them later, but honestly, Molly. You don’t want money? Fame? Income?

Me: Income, yes. I would gladly take income. Fame? No. I am totally cool without it. I don’t need the world to know who I am. I was just talking to my oldest son in the car yesterday on the way to crew practice and we were talking about Steve Martin and how he got tired of all the travel and he just wanted to work and write. Not be on stage…

Other me: Annnnnd?

Me: And it was then that I realized that I don’t need fame. Fame! I wanna live forever… I wanna learn how to fly FLY! … But no, I don’t. I have done a lot of soul searching and I have come to three conclusions.

Other me: Just three?

Me: For the moment, yes and I hope they’re the ones that stick. 1) I believe that I am a good writer, finally. I’m good with it. I can get better, always, but I’m confident now. I am. I don’t need a bazillion dollars and a ton of fans to tell me that I’m good at something. This has taken a long time to allow. And even though I’ve allowed it, I’ll still waver in my convictions. 2) That the way I tell things is specific to me. No one has my eyes and my brain and my way of telling things and I don’t have anyone else’s way. It’s a fantastic thing to be able to say that; it’s quite liberating. And 3) that writing contests and keeping at it and continuing to get better is the only way I can really show myself who I am.

Other me: Who are you?

Me: I am me and you are we and we are all together.

Thank you.

ps – my other interviews:

1) http://peevishpenman.blogspot.com/2012/10/molly-field-tells-it-like-it-is.html

2) http://us1.campaign-archive1.com/?u=467468a1fa496c0967d25f21a&id=063e9dc01b

3) http://itsadomelife.com/2013/04/examining-the-creative-mind-molly-field.html

Tuesday Morning Press 21 — Five Fitness Tips & I’m on PPM Today


Hi team –

Lots going on today, so I’ll have to be briefer than usual (which isn’t very brief I admit).



Fitness thoughts for those of you looking to revive or begin a program. Off the top of my head:

1) In order to gain aerobic benefits (i.e., cardiovascular health, stress reduction, improved “fitness,” which can be measured myriad ways), you need to be moving at a moderate* pace for at least 20 minutes continuously. For those first 20 minutes, your workout fuel is readily available carbs: what you recently ate (w/in the past 2 hours) or lean body mass. To start burning fat, I’m sorry: go longer.

*on a scale of 0-10, 0 being watching Vincent D’Onofrio on the couch, which admittedly for me can be aerobic: 5 is a nice attentive pace, not moseying. 7 is more focused and close to the range of people you see working out. 10 is like running from a velociraptor. So “moderate” is likely a 6-8 — but remember this is YOUR moderate. What could be a ton of work for Bipsy in accounting, could be a piece of cake for you.  This rating scale is referred to in the biz as “perceived rate of exertion.” Google it if you’re curious. Another cue: if you can talk when you’re walking, you’re likely less than a 5. If you can only fit in two or three words when you’re walking, you’re closer to a seven. If you can only yell, “HELP!” or “STOP!” or “FIRE” or “NO!” or “MOMMA!” you’re at a 10.

2) When to exercise? Whenever you will do it. Fit it in, make yourself a priority. After you start getting into a groove, you can decide if working out in the morning or in the evening or late afternoon or mid-late morning, late morning-early afternoon or late afternoon – early to mid evening is best for you… The point is to get started. Can’t do 30 at the moment: do 10 in three bites. It doesn’t matter if you go long or go short: to your heart, 30 minutes is 30 minutes. (But to hit that magic fat burn, ya gotta do 20+ continuously.)

3) Are you a sloucher? STOP IT! Want to enhance your core (trunk) — anything that’s not a large appendage (neck/head, arms and legs is core)? Do this: ESHKA. I tell it to my yoga kids all the time: Ears over Shoulders over Hips over Knees over Ankles; pretend there’s a string pulling your head to the sky and your ankles to the ground and that it’s a straight string, no curves. Are you a sitting sloucher? ESH, then your KA. Think right angles for your knees and elbows whenever you workout when you’re bending / lifting / squatting.

4) Treadmiller? Want more heartbeats per minute to build up that aerobic fitness and cardiovascular health? Move your arms in natural rhythm with your legs and body. If you’re already doing that, great! If you’re a “handle holder” at present that’s cool, just try for 30 seconds or less every couple minutes and then increase your time off the handles. Keep your incline at “0” so you can get used to the motion.

Want more? Increase your incline a level or two.

Want more? Ok: move your arms more vigorously and/or use hand weights.

Want more? (You badass!) Increase your incline and raise your arms above your head: do shoulder presses or swing your arms in “windmills.” You’ll be heating up in no time.

Are you insane? Increase your incline, slow it way down and increase your range of motion: lonnnng, slowwww, striiiiides with connnntrolllll.

Try a lunge or two if you’re certifiable. I am. I call it “LungeMilling” it takes some coordination though.

Treadmills are amazing devices, but I think people consider them one-dimensional. They can really aid you in your exercise endeavors.

Are you ready to pick up the pace? Go for it, but bring it down when you feel woo-woo: lightheaded, excessively winded (you simply CAN NOT catch your breath), chills or nauseated (no matter what you’re doing).

5) Do you use the stairs? Good for you! Here’s more: soften your step. Consider feather steps: they require more abdominal control and posture awareness. Anything that keeps you in the moment is better than taking you to that imaginary terrible meeting with the boss or awkward moment in carpool.

A great article in the Wall Street Journal discussing meeting exercise where YOU are is here: http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424127887324432004578304250252788528.html

There’s a great debate about slow speeds and their mythical efficacy in a workout. Curious about it? Go here: http://www.more.com/health/wellness/are-you-working-out-hard-enough


1) What to eat? Anything you can purchase in the perimeter of your grocery store is going to be WAAAAAAAAAAAAAY better for you than anything in the middle aisle (especially the aluminum foil). I like to think of it this way: the inside of the store is where the grinder (processor) is — so try to stay away from that stuff. Think caveman diet: they ate what they killed and picked. There was no Entenmann’s back then.

5 little meals throughout the day or 3 squares? — I’ve tried both and I usually ends up just grazing. The rule here (and it should really be considered a rule) is that you eat when you’re hungry and you stop when you’re full. Eat foods rich in color, from the ground or something with a heart (I’m not a vegetarian) and be aware. Love chocolate? Fine! Have a Gharadelli square but stop there. As I said last week: cravings last 14 minutes. Beat the craving, you win the moment. Awareness.

2) Drink water — as often as you can. I am a sludge: I hate the taste of plain water, so I add flavor to mine. For every 20 ounces of water, I add 5 ounces of a juice or lemonade. I just do. It makes the water taste better for me. Glam it up: add lemons or orange slices or bits of strawberries: treat yourself as if you’re at a spa. You are the spa.

3) In a bad mood? Get off the couch, walk around. Crank up the dance music. Sometimes just a change of scenery or posture or noise can be the thing to get you out of the funk. I realize this can sound glib; there are people who suffer from depression and other similar mood disorders. I’m not being intentionally glib. But I will say this: moving around will always help. What you don’t wanna do is go online. Nope. Close the laptop. Put down the iPhone.

4) see #2. Having enough water in our systems can remedy a TON of common complaints. Don’t believe me? Maaaaybe you’ll believe my friends at the MAYO CLINIC: http://www.mayoclinic.com/health/water/NU00283

5) Get to bed on time. Really. If your house is like mine, we put the kids to bed at 8:30 and they’re up again at least three more times in the next 30 minutes. Thirsty. Bad dream (already?!). Cold. Blankets all smushed. There can be no relief. You know what the relief is? If you go to bed when they do. (I know, it sounds nuts — but even if you’re just in your room reading or watching a little TV and folding laundry) they will be more quiet when you’re on the same landing as they are. After a little while, when they dial down, you can go back downstairs to:

  • Fold laundry
  • Make lunches
  • Sweep up the kitchen
  • Walk the dog for the night
  • Let the cat in/out
  • Load the dishwasher
  • Start another load of wash
  • Let the other cat in/out

Believe me: there will always be something waiting downstairs.


I’m really not here today. I wrote my monthly post about writing for Peevish Penman at this link: http://peevishpenman.blogspot.com/2013/03/are-you-ready-or-not-new-beginnings.html — some of it might be repetitive for you; but in that post I talk about revising my book with the foreword because I’m feeling a little confused at the moment. The good news is that I read and edited like a boss yesterday, so I’m happy with that progress.

Thank you.

Tuesday Morning Press 20 — Frankly M’dear…I Dunno: break-ups, filters, vampire chicks


Today I go back to yoga. My kids have made it an entire week without one of them staying home for one complaint or another since JANUARY 2, 2013. Hallelujia.

You know that phrase, the classic break-up line, “It’s not you, it’s me” (that has been over-parodied on “Seinfeld,” “Friends,” “All in the Family” and probably in Garfield, but I daren’t ask my kids)?

It’s the line we’ve either all heard or said at least once in our lives. The funny (not ha-ha) part about it is that the speaker thinks s/he is sparing the other person’s feelings when s/he says something like this. The speaker is bullshitting saying, “you’re too awesome for me” or “I’m not good enough for you…” In reality, person A is saying it just wants out and is using person B’s awesomeness to rationalize their own unworthiness. Person A wants to get the hell out, but s/he doesn’t want to make person B sad (likely due to cowardice).

Wanna hear a terrific natural law? It’s true: the person being dumped isn’t The Problem. That’s not to say there aren’t flaws in the relationship, it’s that the person doing the dumping simply can’t deal — for a good reason, say addiction or a lame one, say ear lobe size (just sayin’) — and s/he needs to get out.

MMmmmaybe it’s me. Maybe the ear lobes aren’t the problem. I did NOT take this photo. I would never recover from it.

We think we’re cutting someone else some slack when we blame the failings on ourselves when in reality, we are cutting no one some slack. We’re just trying to leave without the door, brick, book, down pillow, terrifyingly fanged person, engagement ring, or Blackberry hitting us on the way out.

They need too much from us (our soul) our time; they want too much from us (our blood) our couch. We are selfish and we want too, but either we are afraid to say it (intimacy issues) or we clam up until we can’t take it anymore (intimacy issues). It’s ok. The thing is though, you might have some Work to do.

If you find yourself about to use this sentiment/line, stop. Be honest and say, “It’s not you, it’s me and here’s why… I simply don’t have it in me to keep this up. And then throw holy water on the person and run the hell away real fast I have fears and wants and needs and frankly, m’dear, they eclipse yours what happened to the moon? and you’re doing nothing for me: not emotionally, not spiritually, not platonically, not sexually, not satanically, not romantically [you fill in the blank] and what I once thought was great, groovy, safe, everlasting, normal and evergreen, I have come to realize of late: is just not where I am. My problems become greater / don’t go away when I’m around US…(and your contacts, in fact your whole vibe, man, are really freakin’ me out…)

If kids are involved, grow up and figure out your stuff. ‘Nuff said.

I dig movies, so much… there’s a great moment in the first 1/4 of “The Incredibles” when Mr. Incredible gets into some trouble after saving someone’s life.

The person he saved, Oliver Sansweet, decides to sue Mr. Incredible. This is unprecedented, so the suit filing launches a press conference, where Sansweet’s lawyer uses air quotes ” ” to satirize the benevolence of Mr. Incredible’s heroics.

All of a sudden, Sansweet shouts out in frustration and pain, seething and pointing at Mr. Incredible and cutting off his lawyer, “You didn’t save my life, you ruined my death, that’s what you did!” and you almost feel sorry for the guy. He clearly saw the situation differently. Why did I mention this? Filters.

I’m going to go one step further and anthropomorphize Mr. Sansweet, a computer-generated character, and also suggest that he was likely feeling embarrassment and humiliation (his filters) at being found out that he was in enough pain that he attempted CGI suicide hence his lashing out. Ok, someone call St. Elizabeth’s. They’re right up the road. I’ll go put on my trench coat backwards and stand on a fire hydrant just to help out.

We all have filters through which we experience the world and peoples’ actions. To wit:

We might perceive trash on the street as laziness, when in reality, it might have blown out of a trash container. That has happened to me!

We might see cigarette smoking as a disgusting “habit” whereas the smoker would likely love to stop. S/he has to sit outside in the winter outside his/her own home; s/he has an addiction.

We might feel as though our loved ones have betrayed us somehow, when in reality, we might be withholding, hard to approach, difficult to talk to and that also feeds the unhealthy dynamic.

We might consider someone in a motor-scooter as being lazy or self-indulgent. Maybe s/he was injured in a war or car accident.

We might consider an excessively tattooed and modified vampire/person as creepy and what the what? when in reality they’re just a person I can’t do this. I can do anything usually, but I can’t rationalize that woman… I mean, more power to her an’ all that, but please: I’m not Jesus.

True story: I had been on my therapist’s couch weekly for about six months. I had a tendency to be super quick and caustic. Sarcastic and so-called “witty.” I would judge people faster than Clarence Thomas. I would sum them up within 5 seconds. I married a saint; he is the opposite of me. One time, we were sitting in traffic and a disheveled man was crossing the street. Flying out of my sainted husband’s mouth were the words, “Wow, what a mess. He looks like he’s gonna ask for a hand-out.” To which I replied, “Huh. Maybe he’s had a bad week. Maybe he lost his job or his sister died recently.” And plain as the … tats on that vampire chick’s face up above in that photo (yes, I’m making you look), we looked at each other in astonishment. He said to me, “Wow. Who’da thunk?” and I said to him, “What happened to you?” That was when we knew we were on the bus to change.

I could go on and on about “The Incredibles,”: how deeply it dives to shine light on our own inadequacy issues and fears of being obsolete. How it dissects our issues with aging and our efforts to force things into something they are not; how it addresses and our challenges with fame, fitting in, and examines conflicts we may have with standing out and proudly using the gifts and talents we are blessed with having. It’s a great film; and yes: sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, but never with Pixar.

I love Edna Mode, the designer of all the “Supers'” costumes, she is our newspaper-whacking inner super-ego: aided with laser-guided efficiency in seeing things as they are and yet still nurturing. In this scene, Helen (former “ElastiGirl”) is upset because she suspects her husband is cheating on her and she visits Edna to talk about a rip in her beloved’s Super’s costume.

We all need some Edna. And sometimes when I want to be Edna, it’s not worth my time. Some people aren’t ready for Edna. They unwittingly re-stripe the tiger…

We all have these people in our lives: friends, relations, casual acquaintances, hair stylists who can tend to … ok: wear a hole in a rug with renovated complaints. What I mean by ‘renovated’ is that it’s essentially the same issue (betrayal, narcissism, disappointment), but in a new scenario (same tiger, different stripes). I used to re-stripe a tiger; sometimes I still do about situations I don’t care about regarding people I don’t speak to anymore and then I get all “WHAT!?! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!” when I hear about them. It’s stupid of me. I see this happening with my relationship with my aging parents … as if our 25 years apart under separate roofs would suddenly change our dynamic…No. Why should I expect other people to change when I still think in old ways myself?

As one of my rowing coaches said, “The bad news is that it’s all your fault. The good news is that you can fix it.” She thought she was talking about the boat set, but I knew better.

Thank you.

ps – some administrative notes: I’m planning to organize this site. After 215 posts, it’s time. I am hoping to have a static front page. My “Who, What, When…” will comprise one page, the “5 Ws”; I will have “Series” and “Themes” (humor, mindfulness, parenting, aging… etc.) and “Fiction” and other things. so… not sure when, but I hope I’ll get it to happen by the end of the month. xoxo

Tuesday Morning Press 19 — Science is Fun: Diet Coke & Mentos and a New Kid in the ‘Hood


I can’t believe it has been a year since I posted about my Thing 2 begrudgingly dragging his science project to school and how I was “Yosemite Sammin'” all the way. As I recall, that was a Tuesday as well. It was a desperate morning which came on the heels of a panicked weekend.

This year, we were ready. T2 picked an awesome experiment and we all got involved.

Last year they didn’t allow it.

The year before that, they didn’t allow it.

It was deemed too controversial, too dangerous, too daring, too risky, too much fun

But this year they allowed it. They brought it back.

T2’s moment had come — he’d been wanting to do this experiment for years.

He chose early and he chose decisively:

“The Effect of Mint Mentos on Diet Coke”

Everyone was excited for this one. Even T3, who despite his enthusiasm, did not get out of his pajamas to witness the explosions.

Here's me cutting out numbers to place on our tree out back because 5 feet was possibly not enough.

Here’s me cutting out numbers to place on our tree out back because the original set up (a weathered wooden 2″ x 4″ with 1″ numbers in dark marker scrawled on it) was not visible enough from 10’+ away (go figure), nor was 5′ high enough. Shh. Those aren’t my spring-loaded stainless steel Pampered Chef professional kitchen shears, product #1088 (… sorry, I can never easily resist the temptation to make fun of myself).

Without further ado:


It was a breezy day. We had to put tape on the wind-side of the numbers so they’d stay on. We lost “7” in a gust. It landed by the playset. Put funnel on bottle… insert Mentos into funnel… stand back … la la la laaaaaa…


Annnnd the funnel fell off. About half the Mentos dropped into the cracks between the decking. (No, we didn’t make this platform for the experiment. Glancing at husband… Oh, we did? We did. (No we didn’t.) But check it out: my kid has the gift of flight!

We needed a Mentos holder that could repeatedly get wet but also wider than the sheath of Mentos because they wouldn't slide out at all. Those FreshMakers... they are tightly packed.

We needed a Mentos holder that could repeatedly get wet but also wider than the sheath of Mentos because they wouldn’t slide out at all. Those FreshMakers… they are tightly packed. (And they stick to your teeth.)

So, genius mom that I am (trust me, the Egyptians have nothing on me sometimes, I have this weird knack for coming up with quick solutions using what's already there) I said, let's cut the top off an old bottle and tape it together. I felt like Galileo, I faced scrutiny everywhere I turned.

So, genius mom that I am (trust me, the Egyptians have nothing on me sometimes, I have this weird knack for coming up with quick solutions using what’s already there) I said, “Let’s cut the top off an old bottle and tape the openings together.” I felt like Galileo, I faced scrutiny everywhere I turned. Isn’t he cute? Don’t look at him. He’s mine and I will protect him with my fangs and caustic neurotoxic saliva. Look at the next picture. He’s not here. Erase that image from your mind.


And yet, I we prevailed. Seven feet, baby. HOLLA! He’s not in this picture either. Look at the font! Look at the font! Moving on…

We saw some stats that suggested 20′ geysers, but those are with smaller, modified (INORGANIC! CHEATERS!) openings which obviously increase the pressure, duhhhh. Cheaters. 

Today he took his experiment board to school proudly and punctually and it was great. I’d include a picture of it here, but I forgot to take one. I suck. Maybe Dad has one… hang on.

Nope. We both suck. We’ll take one at the science expo and I’ll put it online after that. And maybe I’ll delete this line. Or maybe I won’t… 

And today on the way home from said deposit at school, I encountered a new friend:

Hello Rocky! I'm always glad that I have my phone with me when things like this happen. I usually don't bring it at all on walks to school because I want to be present with my boys, but when things like this happen, I'm so pleased I have it!

Hello Rocky!
I’m always glad that I have my phone with me when things like this happen. I usually don’t bring it at all on walks to school because I want to be present with my boys, but when things like this happen, I’m so pleased I have it!

Thank you.