Mother’s Day carries with it a sneaky assumption: I should get paid back for all the hard work I do as a mother.
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Stories of love and survival in the intense corridor of these few years when the kids are all so little.
Mother’s Day carries with it a sneaky assumption: I should get paid back for all the hard work I do as a mother.
“What is it about a grassy hill in the wind that both fills and empties our minds?” I’m not sure. That’s why I’m asking you. My oldest daughter and I pulled into the gravel parking lot one Saturday afternoon. It was one of my favorite open space preserves, as it was nothing but mountains. After …
This one sounds so zen. This is the one, ladies. This is the sneaker wave. Contentment seems like it should require zero work, like it would come from floating in a pool with a lemonade. I want my emotional homework to be, “Find yourself a flattering swim suit and a pool floatie. It’s time to …
She sat rocking her tiny infant – her third child in four years – to sleep in the carrier with her foot. She sat silently looking at her hands while the rest of us gabbed about ourselves. Then, one of our group asked her, “How is life for you now as a mom of three?” …
She leaned a hip against the kitchen counter while I pulled pieces of smoked turkey meat from the bone, dropping them into the simmering pot beside me. “I feel like I don’t have any time to stop and talk to anybody.” She confided. “Between nursing school, work, and driving my daughter to school and to …
One morning, years ago, my fiance and I were driving on our way to look at wedding bands. I looked down at my bumpy knuckles and calloused palms while sitting beside him in the car. I grimaced. “You’re marrying a girl with kind-of burly hands,” I sighed. He looked over at them and smiled. “I’ve got a …
