It's June. Look out -- summer is coming. Ah, yes, summer in Ohio...those approximately 12 days in late July, when the temperatures creep up to a balmy 84 degrees and Lake Erie averages about 72 degrees. If you go, don't forget to bring a wet suit for wading -- the water's about 6-10 degrees colder than Livestrong.com recommends for vigorous exercise . Even triathlon competitors wear wetsuits in water colder than 78 degrees. There is no way this Gulf of Mexico girl is taking a relaxing dip in that. Instead I will chill on our newly outfitted back deck, which now features a large cantilever umbrella to shield my fish-belly white skin from the sun and a 36-inch ottoman on which to prop my feet. My happy place All that I'm missing is a fruity adult beverage. Unfortunately, my knowledge of alcohol ends at how much rum to put in a Captain and Coke. So when I need an easy fruity drink recipe, I yell one of my favorite battle cries: To Pinterest! I type in the wor...

It was an ugly break-up. I was a sophomore in college; plenty old enough to get my heart broken, but not old enough to know what to do about it. The guy I had been dating for a few months cheated on me with his ex-girlfriend back home during Thanksgiving break. I didn't learn of it until Christmas break, when she -- who I did not know and had never wanted to meet -- showed up at my roommate's parent's house while I was visiting and confessed their offense with more than a little pride. We split, then drifted back together as the young and inexperienced often do. By Easter, we were sitting on the back steps of my dorm and he was telling me that I had too many personal problems and was dragging him down. I must have cried rivers, though I don't really remember. So it goes with young love. On a dead-end road across the street from my dorm was the city animal shelter. I began volunteering there on long Friday afternoons when I had nothing better to fill the time. So i...

you will never be this small again. tomorrow you will have grown a millimeter and mastered another new skill; you will fit a little less snugly into my arms. so tonight I will hold you as long as I can to memorize your weight and the rhythm of your breaths the smell of your hair, the softness of your skin before life gives you any calluses. I will hold you here and rock in this chair long past the point where my arms grow tired because this is why I wanted you this is what I came here for -- to hold you while you sleep and dream and heal my heart with love 10-20-13 (All poetry contained herein is the sole property and copyright of the author, and may not be reproduced without permission.) 

Dear Me, It is May 1998. Right now you are merely 17 but you've survived enough hardship to make you a bona fide adult, if that's how we're counting. Keep going. It will get worse before it gets better, but I promise it will get better. Some day you will soar. In the meantime, I hope you'll suffer me to give you a few bits of advice. It's about your mother. A twisty subject, I know, especially as you are on the cusp of breaking free of this town and the crushing weight of your childhood. But please listen and take these things to heart. I'm going to save you a lot of regret. Record her voice. It doesn't matter what she says -- hello or I'm going outside for a smoke or the quick red fox jumps over the lazy brown dog . (Remember when she taught you how to peck that phrase on her massive manual typewriter? The keys struck so hard, punctuation scarred the backs of her pages.) Make sure, though, that she says your name. Years from now you'll unde...

In my house, we sing a lot of songs. Not #1 hits. Not even Top 40. We sing mostly made-up -- and often inappropriate -- songs. I got the habit from my husband, who's been doing this as long as I've known him and probably long before that. Typically he changes the words from well-known anthems to suit whatever he's doing or whoever he is talking to at the time. For example, he co-opted the 1971 tune "Signs" by Five Man Electrical Band and turned it into a ditty about our first Boston terrier and his unfortunate encounter with employer discrimination: "Sign says long-eared fuzzy puppies need not apply..." For the record, Patch was neither long-eared nor fuzzy, and to my knowledge he never applied for a job. But why let facts interfere with good lyrics? Sometimes the hubs makes up original, heartfelt lyrics on the spot. One notable hair-band-esque riff he repeatedly sang during our courtship, while we spoke on the phone long-distance, was "ta...

T-minus 14 days Have acquired potty training operations manual from local library. Book helpfully explained myriad ways in which I have sabotaged myself by waiting until almost age 3 to begin potty training. Threw book angrily onto coffee table next to random collection of five plastic baby spoons and one mutilated Cube-Bot. That book isn't the boss of me. It can't tell me what to do. Target identified. T-minus 12 days Dropped off toddler's preschool registration documents, which clearly state that said toddler's attendance is contingent upon ability to use a toilet successfully without assistance. Retrieved discarded potty training manual from table where it was concealed beneath December issue of Thomas & Friends magazine.   T-minus 9 days Procured book for toddler referencing one Daniel Tiger and his urination proclivities. Features not-at-all-realistic sounding toilet flush when button is pressed. Toddler seems to enjoy pressing button, but refuses ...

So here we are. My hometown: a few square miles of Southeast Texas known for rice elevators, ill-timed trains, a Sam's distribution center, and a couple of state prisons. It's probably been 10 years since I was last here, and I didn't picture coming back. Some say you can never go home again. I can't seem to leave. South of town, about 2 miles past the old high school with the wrong-colored tiles, there will be a street on the left. It used to be called Oak Lane and was gravel, but now it's paved and goes by a different name -- as most things do when they've been upgraded. This house on the left at the dead end, this white brick one, is where I moved the summer before 2nd grade. That's the spot on the street where I fell off my bike on my 7th birthday and got stitches in my head. Right there by the trees is where we buried our Siamese cat. This is where I first learned about utility bills, and how the city could shut off your electricity in the middl...