Once Upon a Premonition, Or Two...

To my two little pumpkins during this Halloween season, I have a few spooky stories that do not begin with "it's a dark and dreary night," nor do they end with some crazed headless demon roaming the streets in pursuit of innocent townspeople. I can promise however that they will make the hair on your arms stand at attention. These stories are the reasons why I do not completely denounce psychic mediums because sure as I am alive these things have happened to me. For Volume 1, let's dive back to 2006 when I was a young, impressionable twenty-five-year-old taking on the world of publishing one pharmaceutical trade show at a time.  I'd stand proudly at our booth and hand out our most recently published magazines, feeling as though I was contributing to the common good.  I hoped that the health care professional receiving it would reap the benefits of our cutting- edge advice and breaking news on the latest pharma technologies. We would save lives, I was sure

Coming down the pipe.......

Dear Friends, I apologize for not keeping up with these posts. My tardiness is however a result of something wonderful (I hope!)... I have been writing a book. You know, in between potty training, soccer mom chaos,  work and sleeping, oh how I love sleeping, I have been focusing on the novel that I have been trying to complete for years.  I will look to write a post by the end of the summer for sure! xoxoxoxo, Nikki

Spiked Lemonade

It has been a marvelous beginning of summer. The birds serenade us every morning with their beautiful song. It makes me want to open up our French doors and sing with them until my entire house wakes up to join in our sweet melodies. My pale pink, baby doll nightgown would blow in the breeze and my husband would cook up an amazingly decadent breakfast that he would somehow manage to make fat and calorie- free. There would be a carriage waiting downstairs to take us to the beach where we would spend time with our mermaid and unicorn friends in seventy-degree perfect, weather. We would get great tans without the threat of strange sun spots that beckon WebMD’s dooming diagnosis. Our kids would behave like two little cherubs and not whine, hit each other, or need to poop or pee the entire day. I would have no desire to go to a separate part of the beach to have alone time, because being with my well-behaved, self-sufficient and loving family would be all I could ever want in the worl

Stop N' Stare

Hey, Crimson, Yes, I am talking to you in your fabulous crimson-colored pea coat with the matching leather gloves. You look positively regal climbing into your G-Class Mercedes Benz with your pursed lips and perfectly styled bob.  Everything about you is exquisite except for that side eye. Oh, how it made me cringe. It was an unmistakable scowl in my direction and it was as blatant as it was unnecessary. There isn’t an ounce of you that doesn’t scream constipated with a Prada bag full of laxatives.     It was 7PM and nearly 40 degrees out and my ten-month-old’s feet were sock-free, but you should know that my daughter has an insatiable hunger for anything that sooths her aching gums. Like stuffed animals, fingers and her pink heart socks. So by the time we drove from school to the grocery store, her socks were saturated with enough saliva to morph them into two spitballs. Anyone who has had an overprotective Mother or even better, Grandmother, knows that wet socks equal the pl

Kick Boxing Air Freshener

Let me let you in on a little secret. I am wildly immature for my age and wear it like a badge. I have a difficult time keeping a straight face when in situations that suggest to keep a low profile. It's something I can do very little to control. So when the guy diagonal from me let out the loudest fart known to mankind, I laughed like the tickle monster was stuck in my clothing. What made matters worse was the jackass that was sitting next to me. This chick couldn't control herself. She was trying so hard to stifle her laugh that I was afraid she would let one loose as well. She was doing me no favors.  The more she laughed, the harder I did and I have a very contagious chuckle that manifests itself into laughing gas for unassuming people near me. This was a problem. I swear that people were taking deeper breaths than they were before.  Apparently farting was encouraged during kickboxing class because these people were inhaling the shit out of the air in the room. When

A Holiday Letter to the Working Mother Whose Husband Travels

I forgot to move the elf ( again ), the light-up snowflake fell off the top of the house and the living room looks like a toy factory for Santa’s elves. I’ve unsuccessfully attempted to cook meatballs for the last two nights only to give in and order take-out.  I didn’t take out the garbage this morning because I forgot last night. I forgot last night because I was rocking my ninth-month old to sleep while my four-year-old continually crept in with requests every five or so minutes to either put cream on her ass or change the music on our Alexa. Her version of tip-toeing of course is much unlike an adult’s version and it is always accompanied by a loud and mischievous “shhhhh,” willing the baby to wake up so she can torture play with her some more. What was I saying? Right. I forgot a lot of things this week. I printed out our Christmas card list that I had drummed up proudly. This year no family member would dare make fun of me for not sending out my cards! I’d send a card out to e

Raising Miss New York

I live with Miss New York. She barks orders at me every morning, insisting that her water cup be placed directly in front of her while she watches her morning television shows. If the volume on the boob tube is not to her liking, I am immediately summoned back into the living room to fix it. If her breakfast is too hot, it is requested that I blow on it. On rare occasions when she is extremely fatigued, I even help spoon feed her in an effort to help quicken the morning routine so we can get Miss New York to her destination. She tends to get lonely as well so if I am in the other room grooming myself for too long she yells, "Where are you?" Until I appear. Then there is the matter of doing her hair. Most of the time I rather enjoy it, but some days I would just as soon see to it that she be given a pixie cut.  After finishing what I believe to be a well-executed braid,  she roughly puts her fingers through one of the braid's intersections as if to test its durability.