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“Humor can be dissected as
a frog can, but the thing dies
in the process and the innards are discouraging to any but the pure scientific mind.”
- E. B. WHITE
BIO
BLOGGIN'
VAN MOM STRIKES AGAIN
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After a 22+ year career in advertising, marketing and being perhaps the most naive or clueless person to ever engage in office politics, (guess whose cubicle was next to the fire exit), I transitioned to being a freelancer. I tossed around the 'consultant' moniker to make myself sound imposing, as in, “I'll consult you on how to change that water cooler refill and increase productivity by 150%.”
In May 1992, the planets, stars and my two bottom vertebrae aligned. Cupid aimed his arrow. I was in a tire shop at the time, sitting next to my future husband.
We married, had kids and bought a dog.
In 2007, a mentor was convinced I had the chops to write a humor column, and urged me onward. The first “Van Mom Strikes Again” ran in the Pioneer Press on March 22, 2007.
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[2006 photo taken at Disney World in sweltering humidity. My children feel they are reincarnated Vikings. I have the battle scars to prove it.]
On the homefront, I wrestle with chronic disorganization and a magazine addiction. Weeds have taken my yard as hostage. My husband and I don't call each other coochey-coo. sweetie pie, honey, snookies or “hey, youse.” He calls me Ole Mother Hubbard until I go shopping for groceries.
When they're not sacking Rome, my kids pretend they are Spartans and their bedroom furniture is Xerxes' invading forces.
Our dog just scarfed down seven dollars worth of chicken strips we ordered from a restaurant.
I think a lot, about funny things, but also about serious stuff. I wish the world seemed kinder. Or that people were at least willing to wait their turn and not rear-end my van in the toll booth.