The Wisdom of Modah

So Many Opinions. So Little Time.

Author: Modah

Irma Came. And then Irma Went. Now Modah be &*%#! tired.

One week ago that b*tch Irma spread her skirts,

took a squat, and sprayed destruction all over my state.

Since  Modah lives only “a block from the water” here in South Florida,

she wisely decided to evacuate and took shelter 

with generous friends, who managed to pack

eleven people,

three large dogs,

six (count ’em SIX!) cats,

and a hedgehog named Norbert,

into their house. Continue reading

Modah’s “Holiday Pig-out Prevention Plan”

After twelve hours of peeling, chopping, baking, blending,

bitching, boiling, blisters, stirring, sifting and setting

(whilst sweating like a racehorse-running-the-Preakness)

Modah single-handedly produced a Thanksgiving dinner

of pornographic proportions.

A roasted turkey reclined in its Rubenesque glory on the table,

surrounded by serving bowls of salty, slurpable starches

and greasy/sweet sauces, Continue reading

How to Handle the Sting of Criticism

Modah recently GOT HER A** HANDED TO HER by a literary agent to whom she pitched her book and brand. The agent’s criticisms ranged from dismissing Modah’s-choice-of-name to don’t-come-back-until-you’ve-got-a-Kardashian-sized-social-media-following.

And, to some degree, the agent WAS right.

But, @#$%&! Continue reading

Sleep Training AIN’T FOR SISSIES!

He attacks, under cover of darkness.

He is ruthless…and toothless.

He is a screaming, flailing, drooling, seventeen-pound TYRANT.

And, sadly, he’s my “kin.”

My grandson has been terrorizing his parents for four months.

And I’ve watched my Darling DIL stumble down the stairs, weak and hollow-eyed, after a night of hourly interruptions that include (but are not limited to)

feeding, rocking, walking, burping, changing, temperature-taking,

Tylenol, DEFCON 5 screaming, Gripe Water, prayers, tears,

and a few stolen moments of half-sleep for all parties concerned.

PEOPLE, TEACHING A BABY TO SLEEP IS NOT FOR SISSIES! Continue reading

7 Things You OWE YOURSELF After The Last Kid Moves Out

Dear darling empty-nest momma,

Pick your scenario:

1) Your Sarah has just boarded a plane to Guatemala, where she will spend a “gap year” feeding orphans.

2) Your Little Johnny is adjusting nicely to his freshman year at Whattsamatta U, where he plans to “major” in “Business” (but where, like his brothers before him, he will actually “major” in “Beer”).

 3) Your Megan just changed her name to “Nzuri” (Swahili for “Beautiful”) and has “moved to the Coast” to “make art” with her weed-smoking, under-employed boyfriend.

Or, you can imagine your own scenario.

But one way or another, the last of your kids has drained your bank account and is ambling toward a new life. Continue reading

How To Fall Off A Ladder

This week, instead of one of my famously frequent, figurative face-plants,

I experienced a singular, literal ASS-PLANT.

I fell backwards off a six-foot ladder onto a concrete garage floor.

And it should have never happened, because of course

MODAH KNOWS EVERYTHING ABOUT LADDER SAFETY.

I had climbed the ladder to get my torso halfway through an opening into our attic.

And why would a hefty, sixty-two-year-old broad like me do that? Continue reading

NEVER pick up after your man!

After 30 years of wrangling my four knuckle-headed sons and their distracted father, I can tell you with certainty that it does not profit a “neat” woman to shovel the droppings of the average American male. Unless you’re getting paid WAY-above-market by your man, let those papers, dirty dishes and crispy socks just lay there until he gets a clue. I apologize in advance for besmirching the reputations of any “neat” men out there. But such men are like unicorns. And they’re all probably taken. So the world’s unattached “neat” women had better listen to Modah.

Let us examine three unprofitable scenarios where a well-intentioned “neat” woman might be tempted clean up after her man: Continue reading

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