Tag archives: motherhood
Anyone who’s known me for more than a
week probably knows I am a bookworm. Give me an hour of precious free time, and
I’ll quickly bury my head in the world of words.
It took years before my husband
finally realized that when I’m deep in a good story, he no longer exists to me.
And should he persist in trying to get my attention, he deserves the fury he
may unleash for pulling me so cruelly back to reality.
One of my best childhood memories was
the regular trips to the public library with my ...
My baby turns 7 this week, which means I’ve
begun my yearly descent into weepiness and nostalgia that isn’t PMS-induced. It’s
the birthday blues, and they’ve appeared like clockwork ever since her first
I actually thought I’d escaped tear-free
this year, but no, I simply hadn’t been triggered yet. Yesterday my daughter and
11 friends celebrated by making journals out of cereal boxes at her recycled
art–themed party. Her smile beamed as she listened to friends from her current
school and last year’s school singing rousing renditions of both “Happy
Today marks the first day of school and
the official end to what I had dubbed the mother-daughter summer of fun. After
nearly three months of staying up late, sleeping in and pretty much setting our
own schedule, we must return to routine.
By the end of summer, we parents are
ready for school to begin. Busy as the school year is, its rhythm soothes us.
I’m ready for the new routine—ready to have time alone again during the day,
ready to start building my business, ready to not be my daughter’s primary
source of entertainment. Yet ...
After a busy week made even more challenging by the
itchy, watery eyes of spring, I washed down deep dish pizza and a Benadryl with
two glasses of white wine and fell into bed. (A doctor may not approve of this
combo, which is why I didn’t consult mine.)
My dreams of sleeping in were shattered at 6 a.m.
by my daughter screaming, “Mommy, come here quick.”
I stumbled blindly into her room, where I didn’t
need my glasses to realize what had happened. One sniff and I was wide awake.
Orange vomit on the floor, the ...
It seems you can’t avoid hearing about how my
generation of parents is overprotective and isn’t allowing its kids to learn
about failure and resilience. Every time I’ve read an article about helicopter
parenting, I’ve sighed and thought “so glad that’s not me.”
The other day, however, I heard the propellers and
they were coming from me.
Each morning I drop off my 6-year-old at school
and I wait on the playground until the teacher comes to take the kids inside. While
we wait, my daughter usually heads off with a friend or two, and ...