-
Nolans in a Nutshell 2021
Greetings from the funny farm! We hope this letter finds you well, despite the past 1.75 years of mayhem! **EARMUFFS FOR SMALL CHILDREN BEFORE READING THE NEXT PARAGRAPH ALOUD** I’m happy to announce that we confirmed the day after Christmas that our 10.75 year-old twins no longer believe in Santa or his obnoxious elf (or the tooth fairy, Easter bunny, etc.). (Apparently, Brody had stumbled across some stocking candy in one of my hiding spots, and he and Henry also realized that the elf failed to move on the occasions when Mom & Dad had partied too hard the night before.) I cannot tell you how happy this makes Scott…
-
Lesson Learned: Some S**t Shouldn’t Be Mentioned Electronically
Something happened to me this past week that I can only describe as a social media nightmare. Oh, who am I kidding? I actually did this horrifying thing to myself and have no one/nothing else to blame. And, from the moment I realized the atrocity I’d committed, I’ve been trying to figure out how to undo it—or (worse?) how to explain myself to the person on the other end. I’ve always told my two oldest children, now ages 18 and 13, that anything they put out via the interwebs, Snapchat/Insta/Facebook, email, text messages—ANYTHING ELECTRONIC, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!—could be there forever, and they have no control over what happens…
-
Signs, Signs, Everywhere (will be) Signs…
When I retired three years ago, I decided that my house was going to be oh-so-much tidier than before. After all, I’d have six previously-unavailable hours at my disposal five out of seven days per week! Mind you, I had no intention of doing all of the tidying myself. Instead, I would spend part of my newfound time tidying up only after myself–and maybe after my husband (a bit), since he’d be busy working hard all day to bring home the bacon. As for the rest of they tidying, I would simply leave signs/letters/checklists hanging about the house in strategic locations for my four children. They would then read said…
-
Midlife Crises: Apparently, They’re Not Just for Men.
I think I’m having a midlife crisis. Or maybe it’s the world’s worst anxiety attack waiting to happen. Or maybe it’s some combination of the two. Whatever it is, it’s for real. I know you’re dying to know my symptoms, and I would describe them like this: a gnawing, ever-present feeling of dread, sometimes accompanied by more acute moments of panic (think heart palpitations, anxiousness, and the feeling that I need either a few Xanax or a bottle glass of vino). I always thought midlife crises were things that happened to middle-aged men when they began to question their careers, their marriages, their expanding waistlines, and/or their receding hairlines: they…