Life Coaching For Free Play

You must be the best You You can be to be the best You for Others. This is critical. In order to be the best You, You must act with specific intentions. This is very important. If You go a willy nilly with Your intentions, Karma will turn around and Pop Your Jaws.

People ask me all the time, “Life Coach,” and I stop them right there because I prefer to be called Oh, Beautiful Radiant One Whose Skin Is So Soft and Moist and Young Looking And Whose Butt Looks Really Good In Those Jeans. But then they just roll their eyes and press on.

“Life Coach, my personal journey cannot be traveled alone. I’ve tried, but every time I try to sneak away the little bastards find me. HOW can I be the best me when I can’t get rid of the worst Them?”

This is a tough one. Toddlers are notoriously bad drivers, so you can’t really give them the keys to the Sienna and a fifth of Jack and expect them just to run for the border. Oh sure, they’d make it out of the driveway and that might buy you a few minutes of blessed silence before the sirens started screeching, but that’s about it. The key to being the You You can be whilst taking care of Them can be summed up in two words. Two words. Are you listening?

Pillow. Fort.

The problem with your life is you don’t have a pillow fort. Or if you do, you’re sending Them to it when you should be hunkered down in there with a wheel of brie and a bottle of Merlot. It is a well known fact, learned when playing peek-a-boo, if They can’t see you, you don’t exist. Sure, there will be some screaming for Mommy for a while, but once the get their little mitts on the remote and realize Mommy’s not going to stop them from a full-on Elmo orgy, they’ll be fine. Leave out some cut up hot dogs and Cheetos and they won’t miss a beat.

Pillow forts also serve an important purpose. If you don’t teach your children about the dangers of hot lava, WHO WILL? What are you going to do when they go to a friend’s house and have to pile the sofa pillows on the floor because the room is filling up with hot lava, huh? Or alligators? Or drugs? Or lobbyists? THEN WHAT?

But Life Coach, you say, I have no kids. SO THE HELL WHAT? They’ll only ruin it anyway. Face it, they’re just going to make you talk to their teddy bears and have tea parties while you’re keeping the Nazis at bay, eating hardtack, and drinking whiskey. You’re problem, dear reader, is you’ve lost your ability to play. When was the last time you consciously avoided  a crack, huh? And how is your mother’s back these days? J’ACCUSE!  Play is important, friend. If you’re taking everything so seriously you’re just going to get an ulcer. Then you’ll have to trade your wine for Gelusil and bananas and that will just make you even pissier.

Maybe you’re not a pillow fort person. Life Coach is picking up what you’re putting down. There’s finger painting, jumping rope, Tinkertoys, Lite Brite, and Tranformers. You could build a treehouse, play dress-up, or make up a song as you go along. Maybe you’ve got a need for Axis and Allies or Settlers of Catan. IT DOESN’T MATTER.

Just play.


  • The approach of meteorological spring can only mean one thing. Lent. Which can only mean one thing. FISH SAMMICHES!
  • The robins in my yard are HUGE. Like biddy hens. Their territory is the back and the crows have the front. When they meet in the side yard, they get all when you’re a Jet. And it’s pathetic. Birds can’t snap.
  • I’m planning a date night around watching Inglorious Basterds. Don’t tell Chuck. It’s a surprise.  I am obnoxiously excited about planning a bushwackin’ guerrilla army of a menu that does one thing and one thing only: Satisfy my need for crispy fried veal. 
  • I love how every other recipe on Pinterest has either crescent rolls or cream cheese as a main ingredient. Even better? Those with both.
  • The key to a successful relationship is this: You both have to love Three Stooges or hate them. Iggy and The Stooges? Works the same.
  • Get off your high horse about krab. That stuff is delightful.
  • Teh internetz loves you more when it thinks you’re hurt than when you’re well. True fact.
  • I always get Wes Anderson, Paul Thomas Anderson, and John Cameron Mitchell confused. Then when I sort them out, I realize Wes Anderson’s the one I like and feel dumb. Then I’m all sorry, Wes Anderson, for thinking you’re the Shortbus guy.
  • Where are the french fries I did not order? You guys need to anticipate me!