At the beginning of summer, I bought my six-year-old daughter a jump rope.  I didn’t think too much of it at the time, as I was mainly trying to find low-key activities that we could enjoy outside, but that didn’t cost a lot of money, and maybe she could do by herself. At the last second, I added a second

Dear Children, As you lay sleeping in your beds, tired and still just a little bit sweaty from your summer fun, I have some confessions. I know that while you were awake, I might have expressed exhaustion about a number of these things. Nay, even frustration at some of them. But now that you are in bed, I am delighted

My daughter and I have been hiking a lot. Like, a lot a lot. We’re lucky to live a stone’s throw away from a large State Park, and now more than ever we’re taking advantage of it. And while I’ve spent enough time hiking in my life to have the basics down (Appalachian Trail, camp counselor stuff in my youth,

My daughter was scared. It was nighttime. “I’m so lonely, Mama,” she sobbed, coming into my room for what felt like the hundredth time.  “You have to sleep, sweetheart,” I coaxed, guiding her back up the steps once more. But still, she wilted in my arms, a little flower bowing over. I let her sleep in my bed that night.

When I first began thinking about what it would be like to be a parent, part of my vision involved close family dinners. Laughter, passing second helpings around, maybe some classy-funky French music playing in the background. Charming. Delightful. Something that we would look forward to each night. You can see where this is going, right? I hate family dinners

When I first became a foster mom, one of the first things I learned was that we weren’t allowed to post photos of our foster kids on social media. No Facebook, no Twitter, and definitely no Instagram.  At first, I thought this sucked. I mean, let’s be honest, a good chunk of modern motherhood is sharing mom moments on Instagram,

Sometimes I look at my son and think, when will you ever grow older? The question — a wish, a desperate plea inside my mind — comes at the end of the day, when my patience has been spent, when his toddler self will accept nothing, and he’ll flail angrily no matter the situation at hand; a fork given when

I’m a foster mother.  What this means is that there are so many unknowns in my life that are unique to my motherhood journey, things that are present only in my foster parent experience, that never presented themselves in my biological motherhood experience. And I think a lot about how I could certainly frame a lot of these things as

“Did I like the car when I was a baby?” my daughter recently asked, eyes wide and bright.  I paused.  I could tell her she hadn’t been a big fan of the car when she was a baby. That my work commute was long, that my time off was meager between giving birth and going back, that my body struggled

As a mom, foster mom, writer, and librarian, I do a lot of reading — both kids’ books, and adult books. In 2019, I read a bunch, and thought I’d share my favorites with you all, seeing as how you’re all mamas who, by virtue of reading this blog post, probably also like reading words! 1.The Book of the Unnamed