Author - Amy Sherman

Hush, Hush, Sweet Baby Lust
Kranky Kitty Fighting Flier With Flier
This Must Be Foist Classsss…
Kranky Kitty
Li’l Ole Meme-maker Me
Roomba Love
Clog Your Blog Month #CloYoBloMo

Hush, Hush, Sweet Baby Lust

“How are the boys?”

“OMG. They’re doing great. Both doing what they love and living where they need to be right now. Brad and I have never been happier. This empty nest thing is practically like being single again. I make it a point to tell the boys we do not want to be grandparents anytime soon. I mean, I feel like we just finished up with them. We love camping in the rv too much. It’s our happy place. I have witnessed how some people get tied down by grandkids. No thank you! We are finally free. It’s intoxicating.”

“Well, speaking of grandkids…Sean and his wife are due in the spring.”

“Oh! Oh. Well that’s so greeeaaaaat! You must be thrilled.”

“We are.”


I have always said jokingly, with a huge dose of reality, “You have to have children, to know you don’t want them.”

I did the status quo. I followed the natural order or things. I adore my children and I revel in their successes. I excel in supporting them in their endeavors, but I lost myself while raising them. I found myself now, and never want to be caught without a compass again. I like reveling in my own interests, successes and self-satisfying endeavors. Imagine that? Cue credits, I am done.

marathon runner

Raising children is like running a very long, very arduous, very rewarding (if you’re lucky enough to make it to the finish line without shitting yourself) marathon. Quite frankly, I’m not the marathon type. More of an extremely brief sprinter. So I am not a likely candidate to ever repeat a marathon. And I definitely would milk the longest rest possible after completing one. Which is where I’m at right now. Still heaving, sweating, kind of amazed, and quite proud I got through it at all. I still put my children first because I want them to do all they can do, be all they can be, before locking themselves into a responsibility as big as children. That’s how much I care. About them.

Go ahead and tell me how great it is to love these little blood relatives because of the “you-can-hand-them-back” clause. Fabulous. I don’t even want one handed to me in the first place. Someday our kids and their toddling offspring can bring a child-proof tent, find us in Colorado by the Poudre River, and visit. Just don’t expect me to keep some little bugger from floating down the rapids. I’m done keeping people alive.


What? He was just here a minute ago!
I completely relate to a good friend who survived horrible combat in Vietnam. He never wants to be responsible for other lives ever again. I so get that. I deserve a medal, not a rambunctious, precocious, food-dependent grandchild. Maybe I’m suffering from my own form of PTSD, but it just doesn’t seem fair that the reward for raising wonderful children is throwing more children at me. Unlimited adult swim is my reward.


The good news is, I am the mother of boys. Chances are, I will be marginalized by the wife and mother-in-law anyway. Especially after I tell everyone I want my gramma moniker to be, “Tito,” in honor of my favorite vodka. “Sure, you can trust leaving the kids with me…as soon as they’re old enough to pour.”

tito ecard

Oh, I will gush over anyone else’s grand-progeny. Happy to do so. Happy for you, if you are happy about having them. Just don’t judge me for being selfish enough to say, “No thank you. I’ll be off the grid.” And by “off the grid,” I mean childless and carefree in a campground, enduring the occasional flashback of screaming kids, with no need to respond. Some things are better left to those who deserve it.

Kranky Kitty Fighting Flier With Flier

Flier with Flier xxx

This Must Be Foist Classsss…


As a retired American Airlines flight attendant, I have never written a letter of any kind to any airline regarding bad service or experiences. I can certainly appreciate the hard work flight crews do, along with the fact their main purpose is for passenger safety, and any meal service or niceties fall in the “icing on the cake” category. But my sister who is, by far, the nicest person I know, told me of her recent experience as she flew out to visit her ninety-year-old mother. When she asked my opinion, I knew immediately she had been treated badly. It was only a moment, but as any of us know, one moment can stick for a lifetime. This may sound trivial, but if you read my letter that I am ghostwriting for her, you will probably relate to it on some level. My sister also had the ah-ha moment of realizing this flight attendant would probably never have said it to a male passenger. That is mere conjecture at this point, but I had to agree with her. In general, that would not have happened to a seasoned business man traveling in First Class. I leave it to you to decide for yourself. And for the record, I love American Airlines. I loved working for them. And I do realize this is merely one individual in a sea of incredibly great employees.

To American Airlines…

I am a big fan of American Airlines and I am not happy to have to write this letter, but I was traveling between LAX and ORD on [yada,yada,yada,] and had an uncomfortable experience related to one of the flight attendants. I’m sorry to say I cannot tell you her name, but she has dark hair, is fairly senior, and is a little heavy set.

I choose to fly First Class and enjoy the comforts that go with it. But on this particular flight, I was reprimanded by a flight attendant in a way that I felt was inappropriate. I had ordered a Bloody Mary and as she was placing cans down on my tray table, I realized she had accidentally put a soda can down and I told her I had ordered a Bloody Mary. She responded, with attitude, “You could have told me that before I put the can down.”

First of all, I was assuming she knew what she was doing as she was setting up drinks for the person in the seat next to me, as well as what she was placing onto my tray table.

I was pleasant in correcting her, to let her know she simply needed to replace whatever it was she served me, with the drink I had actually ordered.

Mistakes happen. I am not a demanding person. But when she admonished me, for the mistake she had made, it made me feel bad. I actually questioned myself, wondering if I had not reacted quickly enough.

I was taken aback and wish I had responded appropriately to her snide remark, instead of trying to explain why I didn’t correct her mistake rapidly enough for her taste. As if removing the can was really putting her out. I will leave you with this quote:

“I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”
― Maya Angelou

And this flight attendant started my four hour flight off, in FIRST CLASS, making me feel stupid. Perhaps she needs a gentle reminder from Maya Angelou.

Sincerely disappointed,

Amy’s kind and unassuming sister

Complaint letter xx

Kranky Kitty

Head on over to follow

He’s a cat with an angry attitude.

Challenge Accepted xx

Shufflin' Shufflin' xx

I'm HOME! xx

Face HUG xxx

Bidet fix xx

Li’l Ole Meme-maker Me

Aristocat 01

Mitt Meme

No  No

Cosby Chihuahua

Bear Grylls Book

Selfies theory

vague posts

vague batman

queried agents

Roomba Love

Don’t hate me cuz I’m lazy, and I won’t hate you for your fear of aging and having multiple plastic surgeries to appease that as long as you can.

Lesson of the day: One new robot/work-reducing toy adds, at a minimum, two new jobs or things to do. The Roomba will clean your floors for you, but now that I have one, here is my list of new chores…

1. Pick up pee pads, obvious obstructions, or anything that will tangle the Roomba up. This is risky in the brutal winter. The dogs are refusing to go outside and I have heard through the Reddit grapevine, one NEVER wants to come home to a Roomba that ran over some dog shit and proceeded to smear it over, and over, all OVER the floor. The day that happens, I call a Hazmat service to clean floors, throw the Roomba out (obviously into some neighbor’s trash bin), and contact a realtor to help us relocate to a blue state with a milder climate. If those actually exist.

2. Empty the dust bin of the Roomba, because it is fairly small, OR my house is incredibly filthy. I choose to believe the former. Please note our floors haven’t seen this much action since we had a maid for a few years. By my calculations, that is about fifteen years of neglect one little rotating frisbee has to break through. But as I always say, “better thee, than me.” (Suckah!)

3. Swiffer the top of the roomba that has gathered so much dust, either while between gigs, or because so much gets kicked up during its shift. So now I’m cleaning my cleaning device. I usually do this while it rolls near my desk chair, so all I have to do is hold the swiffer to it, while it rotates or moves. Beats me actually walking over to it while it is docked, to Swiffer it. A new personal low, I’m proud to say.

Swiffer Roomba

Once, it began making a weird clicking noise, so I had to stop it, actually lift it up and look at the underside…kinda like picking up a turtle and being curious about its underbelly. Only in this case I see lots of hair tangled around the rotator brush, wheels, and anything else it can grab onto. The only thing running through my head is “Dammit. I won’t be able to erase that from my memory,” so I put it back on the filthy, hairy, floor where it belongs, and my hands and knees do not.

Actual photo of my Roomba was censored for being too graphic and causing projectile vomiting.

Actual photo of my Roomba was censored for being too graphic and causing projectile vomiting.

I let it rest a few days. Suddenly it starts up all by itself and begins cleaning the tv room floor. No clicking. Winner. I fixed it. However, I am alerted to the idea this clever little machine is capable of calling in sick and won’t be covered by my insurance. With something this technologically advanced, clearly any doctor visit is going to cost a lot.

So I ask myself, is it really worth it? This lazy-ass says yes!
There is something inherently cool about a machine doing work for you. I feel the same way about the dishwasher. Sure you have to load and unload it. For now, that’s as good as it gets. Sure you still have items that need to be hand washed. I still love knowing I can set the timer on that sucker, and my dishes are being cleaned while. I. sleep. And unlike the Roomba, it takes a professional to delve into its taint, so I don’t have to scar my temporal lobe any further.

I am going to have to do the math on whether all the money I spend trying to simplify my life, amounts to being able to afford an actual cleaning service. I don’t expect it to be worth three times a week or anything, but even once a month would be good enough for my impossible standards.

Oh. I better add in the cost of lottery tickets that are an investment in the future and the opportunity to be even lazier. A girl can wet/dry dream.

Pier photo courtesy of

Pier photo courtesy of


My editor is not diggin’ my recent entries.

One tough critic

One tough critic


Well, Clog Your Blog Month has finally taken a toll. I have got to focus on one thing at a time.

Tito does not approve.

Tito does not approve.

Clog Your Blog Month #CloYoBloMo

It’s important to have three hands for #CloYoBloMo.

Hair Salon CloYo xx


People in the world of writing and blogging are familiar with November being a motivational month. There is #NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) and now there is #‎NaBloPoMo‬ (National Blog Posting Month.)

Presumably it is to encourage people to write every day and to end up with a full rough novel at the end of the month.

My friend, Mandy Brasher and I find it to be a little too daunting. We made our own writing prompt…#CloYoBloMo OR “Clog Your Blog Month.”

It is an impossible task, but I am finding ways to make time.

No time to stop writing!

No time to stop writing!

Copyright © 2014 Amy Sherman