One more thing . . . (re: Concrete)

Many of you have sent thoughtful and encouraging feedback . . . please know that I am not nearly as brave as some of you suggest. I’m just ticked off and impatient that a stigma exists.

Many of you cannot “go public” with mental health issues for fear of getting fired, not getting promoted, being forced to take a leave of absence, etc. Some of you cannot even use your insurance benefits to cover mental health meds and appointments because you can’t let your employer know. Right? That’s what makes me sad. And ticked off.

Again, I am lucky. I’m a Mom and I’m a writer . . . who’s gonna fire me?

Anyway, just wanted to give a little applause to all of you who can’t go public. Maybe someday . . .

Underpants

Welcome to Inside-out Underpants. As this is my very first venture into blogdom, I think it’s prudent to start with a disclaimer:

This blog, despite its title, will not focus solely on underpants. That said, as underpants are an integral part of my life (and likely yours), I welcome any underpants-related topic ideas. Just keep it clean, people. This blog, on most days, is a family show.

In addition to sharing my POV on underwear, you might stumble across a post or two about bacon or bedwetting or baseball trophies. There might be a post about Pablo Neruda or publishing or pantomime. Oh yes, and there will be book recommendations and recipes and a few posts on why it makes me sad when people go on diets.

But I don’t intend to be an angry, whiney or venting type of blogger, nor will you ever catch me using creepy phrases such as “my adorable angels” or “my reason for living” to describe my children. They are the reason I play Yahtzee and eat sandwich crusts for lunch. They are the reason I haven’t finished my novel and the reason I know anything about Pokemon. They are the reason I bought a Yoda mask and wore that, along with my Barefoot Dreams bathrobe, to do Jedi training at my son’s birthday. They are the reason I lock the bedroom windows tight each night, even on 90 degree evenings. They are the reason I require chocolate for breakfast. They are the reason my shoe collection has gotten so lame. They are the reason I hate child molesters with a deep and fervent rage. But my reason to live? Gosh, I found reason to live before they arrived, and while they have enriched my life exponentially, my husbandio and my girlfriends and my writing and my chocolate are equally enriching.

So yes, I am honest. Sometimes too honest. I am honest about how I feel about my children and my chronic depression and my sorry shoe collection and my marriage and myself as a writer. And that pesky whisker on my chin. I hope my honesty will be enough to get and keep you reading. But of course, I’m not a blog expert. Therefore, please note that the information, opinions and recommendations contained in this blog are for entertainment only. Such information is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis or treatment. And yes, there will be type-os so don’t tell me about them.

OK? So off we go . . .