Tamarah Rockwood

I don’t like my old friend Guilt very much. We are not BFFs. She smells funny, and I don’t appreciate her company.

There comes a point in every writer’s life when their brain just refuses to work.

Occasion: You are invited to your friend's wedding. YAY! WEDDINGS! You want to go. But then you can't. Bummer.

You really, seriously wanted this week to be different!

"Day to day life is going to the DMV, or picking up a few things at Home Depot, or going to bed early. Although I really do like the spunk of motivational posters to put
the idea of “what if” into our heads..."

What I am not saying: "I am now going to take this opportunity to rub in your face what an inadequate parent you are for not sacrificing your entire life to homeschool your children, who you obviously don't love."

I worry about the food I give them. I worry about the clothes we have for them. I stress over the amount of time I spend with them . . . or don’t spend with them. When is it enough, and when is it overpowering?

The last episode of “MyCoffeePot & Me” aired 2 years ago when I woke up to an unresponsive pot.

My brain seems to have stopped functioning at its full capacity, and I am simply going through the motions of loading the car and unloading the car at this point. Kids? Check. Purse? Check. Shoes? Check. Towels? Purely optional. Sunblock? Check.

6. You do not need to comment on what my child is or isn't doing. "That's too bad you don't have your kids enrolled in advanced chess. I have my kids in advanced chess, and lacrosse, and calculus, and..."