Splashy Cannonball

In one of my son's favorite books, Tacky the Penguin, the protagonist (named, oddly enough, "Tacky"--how weird is that??) prefers to do splashy cannonballs rather than the graceful dives favored by his far more tasteful and refined "companions" (Are they Mormon missionaries? Domestic partners? Who knows!).

I have decided that Tacky, who is an appalling dresser and an even worse singer, shall be my muse in jumping back into writing about my life. Things have changed so very much since my mommymatic days that a graceful slipping into the cool water simply will not do. My new attempts at writing can't be anything but, as one of my professors once said, "terribly slippery and anecdotal." And, quite possibly, a big sloppy mess.

But writing did--and I hope will again--help me find nuggets of amusement in my life, discuss whatever target of righteous indignance is unfortunate enough to get in my way, and keep a record of things which will likely be of no significance but seem Earnestly Important right now. And, Lawd knows, I hope it will help me get over myself a little. Seriously.

Now all I need is an inner tube and one of those awesome red-and-white-striped bathing suits.