My head is pounding, my throat scratchy and every time I eat anything but ginger ale and saltines my stomach roils and I am rushing to the bathroom. 

I have always enjoyed writing but due to an unfortunate incident with an unfortunate classmate who made an unfortunate remark about one of my stories my love of writing went underground for about 45 years. 

I’ve been thinking a lot about me lately. 

We went ice skating with our grandchildren yesterday and I was reminded of the day my sister and I learned how to fly.

This is the story of a wannabe rebel

I had a little blue suitcase that was perfect for the job.  I think perhaps it was my sister’s, a gift from my Aunt Mary K, but no matter, by the time she figured out I had it I would be long gone.

I’m kind of fixated on older people right now. 

I was at a restaurant with my two grandchildren ages 3 and 6 and I had given them a quarter to put in the gumball machine which actually held peanut M&Ms and not gumballs. 

I work out with four other women three times a week in our neighbor’s garage/gym.

My mother and I did not always agree on my parenting style (or for that matter my housekeeping skills).  I was told that the way I was parenting our four sons was often a topic of conversation with Mom and Dad. 

My Mom died in 2009 and a day still does not go by that I don’t think “oh, I have to call my Mom about that.” 

The big question is who does the dishes?

My 6 year old granddaughter, Effie, asked me the other day what a soul was and for the life of me I could not figure out how to explain it to her. Have you ever tried to describe a soul to someone?

One day back in 1980 I was visiting my parents in Matteson, Illinois. I had been out of nursing school for a year and was currently working at an NICU in Chicago. I was tired, stressed, burnt out, challenged and questioning my decision to become a nurse.

I have always told my boys “What goes around, comes around.”

When little girls reach out their closed fist to you and say “smell this” go ahead, it’s going to smell good. But when little boys reach out their hand to you and say “smell this,” don’t. It’s going to smell bad. Trust me on this one, I raised four boys.

I remember finding out that I was pregnant with my first son, not feeling pregnant and finding it unbelievable that I was.

I walked into the NICU terrified. The babies looked so very sick, attached to ventilators, feeding tubes, IVs, you name it. They were dwarfed by the machines surrounding them.