You may be wondering why I am writing you -- a 28-inch by 39-inch swath of tattered cloth -- a letter. After reading a bunch of articles about how important it is to let folks know just how much they mean to you, I wanted to let you know how I feel about you. Read more
For a moment, picture when you vacuum around your couch. You move it out from the wall about a foot and suck up bits back there, then you return it to its position, and get the area right under the front where the vacuum head thingamajig kind of fits. But there is swath of floor -- maybe four inches wide along the whole the length of the couch -- that doesn’t get touched. I’ve dubbed this land Dustbunny Canyon. Read more
New York Family used this for the "Last Word" section in the October 2013 issue. They had to edit it a bit for print and to make room for the very snazzy illustration, so I've posted the wee-bit longer version here. Head honcho Eric Messinger gave me one of the best comments yet about my writing, calling it maybe "the most deceptively profound personal essay we've ever run about being a parent." Read more
Bubbles. Stickers. Ice cubes. These things are magic. In a little kid’s world, anyway. When a parental unit whips one of them out, all is perfect...for at least 17 minutes. This morning, I stood in the shower and realized duct tape is magic in my world. Read more
We all do it. We keep relatively innocuous foibles hidden. We are less than honest about rather innocent bits of ourselves. Why? We feel embarrassed? Perhaps. Fear of judgment? Of course. Afraid of ridicule? Definitely. Especially us parents, moms and dads who are juggling jobs and family and relationships, why do we spend so much energy — energy we don’t have — hiding certain things about ourselves? Read more
I entered a contest. A writing contest. Haven’t done that in, well, I can’t remember the last time I did that, so it’s been that long. It was run by the folks at LiteraryMama, a pretty awesome online literary magazine that focuses on moms who are writers…especially those that write about mothering. I didn’t win...but I got an honorable mention. Thing is, it wasn’t about winning. Read more
“Mama, where is it?” She stands in the doorway of the kitchen, I believe with her hands on her hips. Her tone? A touch too accusatory for my taste. I sigh. Because I know. I know what she is talking about, and she knows I know. I always know. I know what today’s “it” is, just as I knew what last week’s “that thing” was and yesterday’s “what we had that one time with Catty and the tinker toy jet pack.” I know because I am Mom and, at some point, during my days of labor, I was infused the power to know by the Goddesses of Motherhood. Read more
Sometimes, sometimes, Life is just there. Even when you are trying, striving to live a life that is true and honest and real, when you are following your passion and all of that mumbo jumbo, sometimes, life just isn’t fun. There are times in life when life is neutral, is sad, is bad, is depressing, annoying, that life can be just there. Read more
“How is he doing this?”
The army of 26, sugar-filled, party-crazed five-year-olds have not moved.
For more than 53 minutes now.
He had us all – parents and children — captivated. Justin the Magician, the wunderdude we hired for Kiddo’s birthday party, managed to shock and awe the group of somewhat-cynical NYC parents around me. It wasn’t his magic per se (though it was great), but the fact that he had, somehow, put our children in a giddy party trance. (I’m thinking it was a magical variation on a Vulcan mind-meld.) Read more
I know what you are thinking. This is a total cop-out post. A “she didn’t know what to write about, so she inserted some You Tube video” post. The “it’s only Day 4 and she can’t figure out how to squeeze it all in” post. And, yes, though, all of those may have bits of truth to them, this is something that deserves a post. I need music to write. Read more
When you talk about French fries, you will want to eat French fries. Not tomorrow, not eventually, but right then, or at least on your way home from wherever you are. No other food, I feel, has that effect. Read more
I hurt myself playing Freeze Dance. With 19 five-year-olds. On my 40th birthday. The humor is not lost on me, this happening on my birthday. Why did I get hurt? Is it because I am now too old to play Freeze Dance? I refuse to think this. Read more
I’m raising a hoarder.
My daughter. She is five and she is a hoarder. Not your typical five-year-old hoarder. She does not make piles of stuffed animals or Barbies or pink sparkly-things. No, she hoards empty paper towel holders, the cardboard dividers from Fresh Direct containers, wrapping paper inserts, old Kleenex boxes (we have 34 of those). We have a wall of toy bags filled with stickers she has found, used ribbons, and those crunched-up, triangle-shaped mounds of paper that live in the toes of shoes when you first get them (we have 22 of those). Read more