It’s a Boy

Today I became a Sitto (grandmother). I returned home from work hearing the cries of a newborn. My high school daughter has the responsibility of caring for the newborn for twenty-four hours. From my stand point, It’s not going so well. I have a feeling it’s going to be a very long night . . .

for HER!


I desperately want to close my computer and head up to bed. Yet, I have this nagging feeling of committment; forcing me to write so that in two days I can claim that I accomplished the Slice of Life challenge.

Tonight, I just don’t have it in me to dig deep. Digging deep makes me have feelings I try so desperately to avoid. I don’t want to go there. I don’t want to allow the feelings to surface. I don’t have the energy to work through the feelings. I don’t want to go there and I don’t want to write.

So, here I am . . . not digging deep. Scratching the surface, yet not making room for those feelings, not giving the feelings a platform. I am not going to write!

I made it through another day, “Faking it til I Make it!”

. . . until tomorrow!


login to Facebook

checkout what’s new on Instagram

play a quick game of Backgammon

review network highlights on LinkedIn

search Twitter

see how many points to a free beverage on DDPerks

complete daily trivia

create new playlist on Spotify

take an extra course on Noom

watch a few videos on TikTok

reminisce with photos

how’s my daughter doing on PowerSchool

design a new Bitmoji

shop on Etsy

play a quick Woodoku

listen to a TedTalk

Distraction or Procrastination?!!

Maybe Next Weekend

We opened the door to the shop and and I was overwhelmed by the rows and rows of colors. The sheer number of people and the hustle and bustle of teens scurrying about at full speed, put me into sensory overload.

My senses were taking in more information than my brain could process. I stepped forward and was swallowed by the rows and rows of silk, satin, lace, organza, and chiffon. The chatter, screeching of hangers sliding across metal bars, and music playing at a decibels way too high, made me want to scream, turn around and run . . . run fast! But I couldn’t run. We were on a mission; a mission to find the perfect prom dress. I was along for the ride for very specific reasons . . . to hold, fasten, zip, and hang. Maybe, just maybe, I would even get to pay!

Two and a half hours later, 24 dresses held, fastened, zipped and rehung, my daughter and I left the boutique exhausted, empty handed, and ready to embark on yet another adventure next weekend.


For the last two years, I have collected a variety of masks. I may not be the most stylish dresser, but I’d like to think that my masks have reflected my personality.

Mickey Mouse masks…monthly themed masks…

masks with paw prints…and masks sporting school logos

For two years, the decorative masks looped around my ears have provided me with a sense of security.

Most recently however, being unmasked has left me with a feeling of vulnerability; afraid to expose my imaginary mask. The mask that other people can’t see; the mask hiding my feelings.

pretending to feel something that I don’t really feel

acting like everything is fine when in reality everything around me is crumbling

saying that I don’t care about something when really I do

pretending to be happy when sadness is suffocating me

What does your imaginary mask expose?

Dear Companion

You do realize that you are supposed to be a caregiver, right? You were hired to actually care for Cheryl. Living with Cheryl full time, you should be supporting her with basic domestic duties such as meal prep, laundry, and light housework. I arrived today and not only was the kitchen sink filled with dirty dishes but Cheryl’s lunch remained half-eaten on the table. The house reeked. Was the stench coming from the kitchen, bathroom, or kitty litter boxes? The plant that was knocked over on Monday, remained on the floor. Was four days not enough time to pick up the pieces of broken pottery and dirt? How is this something that you simply overlooked?

It was 53 degrees outside; a perfect day for a walk. It is expected that Cheryl take two short walks each day. When I asked Cheryl which birds she saw on her walk, she couldn’t remember. It was so clear to me that she had not left her house . .. not today or yesterday. Sasha, this is unacceptable. You explain to me that Cheryl prefers to dance than to spend time outdoors. Yeah, not so much! Cheryl would never prefer trying to keep the beat with her body over birdwatching. You do know that most people in the community know her as ‘the Birdlady.’ Stop trying to convince me that the two of you dance every day for thirty minutes. Stop with the lies!

What bothers me most is the lack of respect that you show Cheryl. She cannot remember your name. Why do you take that so personally? She asks the same questions over and over. Why can’t you simply answer them? She doesn’t remember what she did two minutes earlier. Would it be so hard to just go with the flow? Familiarize yourself with Alzheimer’s Disease and while you’re at it, please develop some compassion.



If You Can’t Be a Champion, Please QUIT

Attending last night’s Board of Education meeting . . . DEFEATED.

Hearing a staff member, who claims to care so much for ‘our’ children, demand that parents speak out against administration who allow students to trash classrooms . . . DISCOURAGED.

Last night, replaying the Vimeo recording . . . DISHEARTENED.

This morning, face to face with the staff member . . . RESENTFUL.

This afternoon, debriefing with Central Office regarding the staff member’s public comments . . . DISPIRITED.

This evening, reading this staff member’s post on social media . . . BEATEN.

Tomorrow, face to face with the staff member . . . FEARLESS.

There’s Danger in Baking Too Early

One of my most favorite Easter traditions is baking (honestly eating), traditional Lebanese Easter cookies –

ka’ik (kah-ck).

Normally my family would gather to bake the cookies the week before Easter. This year we baked early. No problem . . . Stored correctly, these cookies would stay fresh until Easter. I was proactive. I packaged my cookies in an airtight cookie tin and hid them away from everyone . . .

except me!

As I was reviewing 600+ progress reports, I had to sample a cookie.

But I must have forgotten, so I had to try another.

That cookie was so good, I treated myself to one more.

Then when I finished reviewing all those progress reports, I felt it necessary to give myself a reward . . . so I had another.

And then I had to share some cookies with my mother-in-law and I didn’t want her to be uncomfortable eating alone, so the two of us enjoyed tea with cookies.


To my siblings who thought it was a good idea to bake Easter cookies four weeks before the holiday, my tin needs a refill because while writing this slice, I enjoyed

not one,

not two,

but THREE cookies!

All I Want

All I want to do is close my eyes and go to sleep. Yet, this challenge keeps me awake night after night. From sunrise til now, I wondered, what part of my day will be slice-worthy? Nothing comes to mind. And that’s when I went upstairs and changed into something comfortable; encouraged that will do the trick.

All I want to do is close my eyes and go to sleep. Yet, I am determined to successfully complete the challenge. Me and my laptop sat at the island, right in the middle of the hustle and bustle at my house. Nothing came to mind. And that’s when I moved to my writing spot; hoping that will do the trick.

All I want to do is close my eyes and go to sleep. Yet, I am inspired by reading slices that I consider my mentor texts. Me and my laptop sat on the blue couch with March Madness playing in the background. I try and try again, but I can’t feel the mood. I can’t seem to string more than two words together. And that’s when I made a small snack and cup of hot tea; expecting that will do the trick.

All I want to do is close my eyes and go to sleep. Yet, I am not quite finished writing my slice. Or am I?