Sex. When you write about life and motherhood, you know it’s going to come up. There are countless topics related to sex and many different reasons to rant write about it. Since the readers at Sweetness of Life & Motherhood had a lot of fun with this post and made it overwhelmingly the most popular, I thought maybe Flicka’s readers might like to have a bit of fun with it too.

During one of my visits to the salon, I overheard a group of women discussing how their husbands and significant others ask for sex. Literally. Read More

As a child, there wasn’t a day that went by when I didn’t awake to the robust essence of my parents’ morning addiction drifting upstairs from the kitchen.

Though I’ve always adored the pleasant aroma of a fresh pot brewing, I didn’t begin drinking coffee until I was 33. The decade since my affair with coffee began, has been one of the longest surviving loves in my life, second only to my 17 year-old son. Read More

I had to chuckle last night after hanging up from a lengthy phone conversation with a dear friend. She called with some good news. Finally, after years of drowning in envy, she’ll soon be joining the ranks of motherhood. I’ve never been one to give much advice since most of the time I’m making it up as I move along through my own life. I congratulated her and promised I’d always be there for support. And then I dedicated this post in her honor. Read More

Last fall, my parents bought and moved into their dream retirement home. They love it and we couldn’t be happier for them. But at times, my siblings and I confess to missing the old house.

The loss for me is largely because that old house had the drunk kitchen.

It’s the place where moms, sisters, daughters, and girlfriends gather with their bottles of wine. In the drunk kitchen, wine and conversation flow freely, while dishes are busily washed and put away without a thought. Secrets are shared. Advice is given. Laughter is heard. Tears are shed. Read More

Dinnertime. It’s the most anxious time of the day for me. It’s absolutely daunting. I start my neurotic routine by looking through the pantry. Then I head to the garage to check the freezer. No idea comes to me. After having inspected the contents of the fridge, I find myself back in the pantry. And this is the point when tears and anxiety can take over. Read More