Sorry, Blorry

I’m going to have to be a little more creative in my posting these days. I’ve been writing a lot because I started to use my morning time (where I used to journal in my moleskin journal and read a few pages in a book I’m trudging through) to blog instead. It’s working brilliantly for creating more blog content and helping my peace of mine but the problem is: it’s PUBLIC! Doh. One-big-eye-one-squinty-eye-tongue-out emoji here.

Of course I knew that but I took comfort in the thought that this blog had sort of fallen by the wayside AND I have been writing so much that most of the world doesn’t read that much. You know, we are all just scrollers these days thumbing through countless articles on our phones, skimming just the bare minimum until we get to the nugget of information we are looking for. In fact, I know Payam doesn’t read this blog for that exact reason! Ha! I actually like it that way.

But I forgot about my parents. My mom is so sweet, she reads everything I write. I love her so much. And my last post kind of made her sad and she shared it with my dad. She read it to him while he was knitting a pair of slippers. He has an etsy shop. Yes, my dad is that cool. So you can imagine how my last post hit my parents ears, who tried so hard to give me the best groundwork for a good life that they could.

I think they did an excellent job. They think they’ve failed me. It breaks my heart.

The thing is I love to write. My favorite kind of writing is descriptive writing and specifically writing about things I know. I know I should delve into fiction but it gets sketchy for me because I don’t have the organizational mind at keeping facts straight. I’ve always been a terrible liar. Writing fiction is like work. Whereas writing about a memory just flows out naturally without even thinking.

I’ve often thought I would write a hilarious book about my life and my family and the way I was raised in a conservative religious upbringing but I would have to be like Mark Twain and wait 100 years for it to be published so that those super juicy chapters wouldn’t hurt anyone.

I just want to say that I’m sorry these last few posts have been so navel-gazing. It’s self-therapy sort of. I’ll take the more personal stuff back to my moleskin. I want to keep writing though. It does make me feel good.

Also, today is tax day. Blarg. Send out your payments and/or extensions folks!

High School Here She Comes


It’s been hard to write lately for obvious reasons.

In the meantime, however, Bug graduated from middle school and we had a covid-style white-privilege non-graduation. What does that mean?  We bought some balloons and did a photoshoot in the park. Basic, I know. But it was something sweet to do to remember this time and provide me with some photos to make our annual family calendar. This is how I work.

I wasn’t going to put anything up about it here, us being so freakishly white and privileged but then I remembered that probably only about 100 people read this blog… It’s not about you, Little Hoo and all that. (inside joke)


This blog is my scrapbook for Bug and these years are fleeting. I want to remember every moment like I remembered every moment when she was a baby. Remember her walking on the beach? Remember my new mom voice trying to teach her how to roll over…? I am overwhelmed with thankfulness and wonder at this ever-changing role I have as her mom. It’s so different now.  I have a lot of long moments to myself where I miss being that young mom. All those years that I struggled to work with her interrupting me constantly and hanging on my arm that uses my mouse. Those long nights of sleeplessness and stress worrying about money… I still wake up stressed but now it’s about new and different things.

Bug doesn’t need me much anymore other than to buy food, drive her places or give her money. And and even though it makes me a little bit sad when she doesn’t want to bake with me or take a walk to the beach, it’s a good thing. She’s growing independent. She’s on her way to adulthood. We have a long ways to go but she’s hitting all the milestones and I don’t have to stress about them like I did her first milestones. Remember that? Remember worrying about how many words they said by what age and whether or not she was walking on time and potty-training on time, and sleeping by herself on time??? Oh man. I wish I could go back in time and tell myself to stop stressing out so hard.


So that’s what I’m trying to do now. Stop stressing so hard. She’s going to be a reasonable adult. She’s going to make stupid mistakes. She’s going to make great choices and not so great choices and she’s going to be okay. My job is to just keep on loving her as I have since her first moments of life.


This kid. She’s smart. She’s also a smartass. She’s self-driven. She’s talking to way too many boys on her discord channel while she plays Minecraft with a headset on. They mostly talk about Minecraft and make stupid jokes. All day long with the stupid jokes. My life is a walking meme these days and I’m Karen except she doesn’t need to call me Karen because I was blessed with the name, Brenda, which is just as bad if not worse.


Every once in a while we have a moment and I feel just as close as I felt when she was that scared second grader who had so much anxiety she couldn’t go to school without dry-heaving. I don’t miss those days. They were so hard.  The worry circles. The asking the same question over and over and over no matter how creatively I answered.  But she got through them and now she is really strong. She is so strong she keeps her emotions inside which is something I’ve never really learned to do. She says it’s the product of being a child of a worry-wart. I’m really trying not to be a worry-wart but I come by it naturally.


So happy 8th Grade Graduation, Bug! You are beautiful and amazing and you are part of a big piece of history that we will all look back on and talk about. We’ll always remember the graduation that got high-jacked by Covid and the Black Lives Matter movement and the protests. I have no idea what is coming next but I expect great things.