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Category: Read (page 1 of 4)

3 Things Men Just Don’t Get About Romancing Their Wives

1. Getting Hot & Heavy in Bed

Late at night, when the kids are finally asleep, the lights are dimmed, the phone is off, the dishwasher is humming, the doors are locked, and I’m in bed with my husband, he whispers an insecure, anxious thought:

“You only love me for my body.” He gulps. Are those tears he’s blinking back?

Oh, stop wiggling and get over here!” I demand. I move closer.

“No!  I’m more than just a hot body, you know!” He hugs a pillow to his chest and effectively blocks my embrace.

“No, you’re not.  Quit fighting and give in!”

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The Ten Commandments of Ultra-Righteous Prayers

For prayers to be inspiring, it’s important to use guidelines, especially for any recent converts. Oh sure, it may SEEM like prayer is a simple thing between you and God, but honestly, it’s quite complicated to perform it correctly.

And I do mean perform.

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The Super Mom’s Guide to Getting Sick

Women have something in them that fools them into thinking they are Super Woman. Well, for me it’s Wonder Woman (I even had the Underoos to prove it. And the aluminum foil bracelets. And the crown). So, when I get sick, I live in total denial for several days.

“I’m fine,” I croak, crankily.

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A Marriage Story

Once upon a time there lived a boy and a girl.

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Suggesting A New Member of the Avengers: Mouse Woman

This is a classic from the email newsletter archives. You should subscribe if this is your jam.

Once upon a time, I was sleeping on my little sissy’s couch. It was either that or snuggle with her in bed and since her son was still nursing, I was afraid of awkward encounters of the midnight snacking variety. Anyway, I awoke to the sound:

Click…click…rattle…rattle.

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Dear Lottie, A Short Story in Three Parts {Part 3}

Part 1Part 2Part 3

The plane was unharmed, or at least not any more harmed than it had been before the unfortunate fall to the concrete beneath the tree. Jack blew on it with relief, dislodging a leaf from a wheel, and then spit on it to rub out an especially dirty spot on the intact wing.

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Dear Lottie, A Short Story in Three Parts {Part 2}

Part 1Part 2Part 3

1917

Lottie,

I know the War Office will have contacted you by now (I also know receiving communication from them must fill you with anxious trepidation: I am so sorry to be the cause of that), and you will have been told that I am back where I should be. Safe and returned to duty.

They tell me I spent several days recovering at the hands of a beautiful war nurse (I am only kidding and testing if you are paying attention. In truth, she was shaped like an elephant and had a thicker mustache than I) but knowing the war to be coming a close, I chose to finish my post rather than come home to you just yet. I hope you aren’t angry, though you know how are adorable I find you when you are angry.

I have been transferred to the Rifle Brigade 10th Battalion BEF for now. I think they are leery of giving me a plane since I rather annihilated the last one. Being on the ground is no place for me though: I march through the mud and muck with stomping feet and scowl at everyone I see.

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Dear Lottie, A Short Story in Three Parts {Part 1}

Part 1Part 2Part 3

Dear One,

You will get the news soon enough, but by some kind hand of God and one enemy soldier, you will hear it from me first. I have been shot down and am now behind enemy lines. Now don’t be scared. I am injured, yes, but not mortally – even my spirits are lifted as this letter is being lifted: right over the walls by the very man who brought me down.

You see, the flight was cloudy, and I became disoriented. Before I knew what had happened, I’d been hit. The man who did it followed me as I made an emergency landing. I wish I’d known then it was an enemy airfield. They are so hospitable they wouldn’t hear of me leaving!

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Gramma’s Fitted Sheets

Once upon a time, we were coming out of a strange and wonky, terrible, horrible, no good, very bad year, and we were left with little in the way of personal possessions.  This had been quite tolerable since we kind of prefer the minimalist life anyway and you’d be surprised at how much you do NOT need.

I basically AM Marie Kondo. But, you know, chubby and American.

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8 Reasons Why Moms Should Be Secret Agents

I have given something a lot of thought lately: mommies the world over would be excellent in espionage.

I think the C.I.A. should hire us, and I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve taken the liberty of submitting one large resume on behalf of moms everywhere.

Of course, we’ll have to have Spy Names, like Scully, or Agent 99, or Bond … James Bond – something like that. Give it some thought. Seeing as how once upon a time, approximately three hundred years ago, I was a ballerina, I’ve decided to be Tutu. I’ll have a pointe shoe phone. Read more

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