I used to write here. My heart would beat so fast when I sat down to type. I could feel the words in my throat, bubbling and exploding and rising up without warning. I would write when the house was quiet, drafting opening paragraphs under the stream of a hot shower, emerging to tap them…
I laughed at a first grader who knocked over a row of bikes this morning. She was late to school, walking her bike the last few steps before parking it in front of the principal’s office. “Come ON!” her mom begged. “The bell just rang!” Their footsteps tapped along the sidewalk in a familiar, choreographed dance. …
There’s a game that we play, my boys and I, when the sun goes down and we’re getting a little stir-crazy. Max balances an overturned stacking block on his hand, or on his head, or at the edge of the couch, and I try to throw a ball in. At nearly five years old, he…
My son is sleeping with the window open tonight, and I’m terrified that someone will pull out the screen and kidnap him. Last night when I stretched my 38 weeks pregnant belly over the side of the bed to grab my cell phone charger, something below my ribs felt like it tore….and I’m sure it was my…
Dear Jane Doe, I am the mother who wrote about teaching our boys to be kind. As I hit “publish” on that essay about the ways in which parents must take responsibility for raising sons to be brave protectors, I was thinking about you. My words about teaching kindness went viral, and the conversation turned…
I’m finally sitting down. I have a cup of coffee next to me, and it contains way more creamer than necessary. Our amazing Nanny just got here early to rescue Max from the Disney Jr marathon that he’s been plugged into all morning (don’t judge, they’re un-asbestos-ing our house today, so Sofia the First was…
I was an epic failure of a mother today. And my kid was a pain in the butt. “Max, I need you to be a good listener in the bookstore. You can play in the playhouse, or at the train table. If you start to run around the store, that tells me you’re ready to…