Do not be alarmed. I am not referring to copulating, although this is a scientific term.

This hybridized word involves physics, not biology.

I love the word because it describes a stage in between.

Flinking refers to a state between floating and sinking.

The density of an object is such that it neither floats nor sinks.

It flinks.

Suspended in the water below its surface.

Too heavy to float but not heavy enough to sink.

I do enjoy the concept,  but not the sensation.

It’s like the limbo without the line or the music.

I am not drowning. I am not swimming.I am not floating. I am flinking.

Motionless, powerless waiting for the current to shift and my density to change.

I have to follow through, before I can start something new.

Stinking flinking!




Enemies and Heroes

People puzzle me.

I have been living with my eyes wide open for a long time now.

It seems to me that some need enemies and some need heroes.

Folks need something to fight or follow.

I am fortunate to have a full life, so I do not feel this need.

But some folks have holes in them.

There is a void that yearns to be filled.

They need to fight a boss or spouse, so they revel in political battles.

They need a champion parent or preacher, so they follow a paternalistic leader.

I have an enemy all ready.  Epilepsy takes the battle out of me.

I have heroes in my family, one of which is my amazing Rose.

Because my life is full, I do not scroll for anger or watch a screen for inspiration.

I stay home peacefully puzzling about people while surrounded by plants.





More to Say to Mamas

I guess I will never be done. Not as Seizure Mama nor Rose’s Mama.

I have tried to make decisions for her separate from her epilepsy.


Is she separated from epilepsy.

Sometimes trying to be fair is sort of like trying to be stupid.

She is not separated from epilepsy, so why am I trying to make decisions like she doesn’t have it?

She wanted to study abroad, alone, in Central America over the summer.

I tried to say yes. I tried to consider her as normal. (She hates that word.)

I tried NOT to let fear be part of the formula.

A female alone. Learning the language. Eleven week$.

No for Rose. No for Epilepsy. No for mama.

I’d rather be safe than sorry.

That’s not fear talking. That’s just mama sense.


The Missing Stories

The folks who know us best will notice omissions in our book.

There are missing stories.

I see no point in sharing them with our fragile and frazzled audience.

Some are painful while others are pointless.

There are stories of folks doing the wrong thing or nothing.

Why should I shame people for trying to do what they think they can do

or not trying to do what they know they cannot do.

There is so much forgiveness in my heart that I even have some left over for myself.

I am not a doctor, nurse or pharmacist. I am only a mother.

My job was to be there and care.

That’s what I did.

So friends, if you wonder why those events that you witnesssed  have been omitted from our memoir, keep in mind…

the point of our book is to help not to harm.

My ‘Other Mothers’ need stories they can learn from.

We want to stand on the edge of the crazy cliff with them,

not shove them over it.

That’s why we are here.  To stand together.

Seizure Mama and Rose