By Bethany Turner
Have you ever taken a Myers-Briggs personality test? (If not, the one at 16personalities.com is my personal favorite.) So, you know the thing with these tests. You answer a lot of questions about yourself and your preferences and tendencies, and how you handle certain situations. And if you answer honestly (and that means you answer as the person you are and not the person you wish you were), the results can be somewhat eye opening.
By Heather L.L. Fitzgerald
“Mamma, can I have that?” As you select a half dozen pairs of jeans and head for the dressing room, Toddler asks this innocent question, pointing to a stuffed tiger discarded in a bin of scarves like a stray cat.
“Not today, honey.” You steer Toddler forward and smile at the fitting room attendant.
“But I want the tiger!” Toddler stops walking and gives you her best mistreated face.
Newborn stirs in car seat.
You level your mom-gaze on Toddler and will your voice to be firm but positive. “You have a lion at home. Right now, Mommy really needs to try these on.”
Toddler stomps herself into the dressing room. You close the door, lock it too hard causing Newborn to jump reflexively. With deft movements, you tap the pacifier back into her mouth, set the car seat down, hang up the jeans, and proceed to peel off your stretchy yoga pants.
“It’s not fair.” Toddler has face planted against the mirror.
By Jami Amerine
She looked pale.
Worse than pale.
She was clammy, sweaty and a greenish-translucent-walking-dead hue. I barked, “Good grief! For someone so smart you are so dumb!” I know, harsh. However, I was tired of arguing with her. Our 15-year-old prodigy daughter (no really, she’s a genius, we don’t know what happened) was deathly ill and arguing with me about how she had 4 tests she couldn’t miss and a dance performance at the football game that night.
By Beth Vogt
I believe a girl needs her girlfriends.
When my husband and I were novice newlyweds, we moved across country from Maryland to California, thousands of miles from family and friends. When your husband’s in the military, you go to the assigned duty station – no arguing.
One night, homesickness and loneliness overwhelmed me. I stood in our tiny kitchen, crying, and said, “I want a friend.”
My husband’s reply? “I’ll be your friend.”
“No—” I choked back a sob. “—I mean a girlfriend.”
By Shanty Espinosa
I think I have pre-Alzheimer’s. Or maybe just short-term memory loss like Dory the fish. Or (most likely) gluten-induced dietary fog brain. Or PMS. Whatever the culprit, in the past week, my life has taken on a sluggish quality, as though a white, puffy cloud is following me from room to room, coming between me and the keyboard, the dirty dishes, the Twitter. (Okay, so this might be a blessing). Anyway.