Last Thursday I boarded a plane headed for Atlanta where two of my college friends picked me up so we could make the drive to Nashville. There we met up with two more college friends and spent five days eating, drinking, talking, eating some more, and not tending to the needs of small people.1 It was great. It really was.
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We’ve had kind of a rough summer so far. I’ve always said three-and-a-half is the hardest age. Magda Pecsenye of the blog Ask Moxie put it best, in my opinion: I say often that age 3.5 is the nadir of humanity, and I’m not actually joking. This age is demoralizing and confusing to the parent, because the child just can’t
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June 17th was supposed to be our son’s last day of school. But instead of spending the day having extra recess and signing yearbooks, most of the kids in our local public school systems stayed home. A crazy storm blasted through Central Virginia the night before, uprooting trees, knocking out power, and setting our city and the surrounding areas into
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“Why is that flag only halfway up?” I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw my seven-year-old son tapping on the glass and pointing at a flag pole outside the retirement community near our house. “That’s called ‘half-staff,’” I said. “They do that when something sad has happened.” He stayed quiet for a few beats, leaving me thinking that maybe
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Once upon a time–eight years ago, if you’re counting–I was a glowing fairy princess. At least that’s what it seems like when I look at old pictures. Such smooth skin. Such bright eyes. Such a defined jaw. Back then, in addition to being in my 20s, I wasn’t a mother. Sleep was bountiful, stress and worry were minimal, and I
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Since last spring, we’ve been on quite the KonMari kick in our household. Well, to be more accurate, my husband has been on quite the KonMari kick, and when he’s on a kick, it’s best to just go with it. For those of you not familiar with KonMari, it’s shorthand for a method of decluttering–and then organizing–your belongings, as described
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A week ago Saturday, my husband, son, and I came home to something no family ever wants to see: The window to our backdoor smashed in. Couch cushions tossed around the living room. Bags dumped out on the floor. Every cabinet, drawer, and closet open and ransacked. While we were at a baseball game that evening, someone–three someones, we came
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I’ll never forget the first time I got a truly negative, punch-in-the-gut comment on a parenting article I wrote. “I feel really sorry for your son.” Other writers who share their parenting experiences online have gotten much worse than that, but…dang. The internet can be a rough place for parents. That constant influx of information and opinions (and, with those,
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This past weekend I had the privilege of attending a co-ed, kid-friendly party to celebrate the impending arrival of a dear friend’s baby girl. There were biscuits, some booze (for the non-pregnant, non-underage attendees), and not an awkward shower game in sight. It was great. As I wrangled my family when it came time to leave, my friend thanked me
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I pulled the fitting room curtain shut and removed my dress from the plastic covering it’d been hiding under for the last few months, waiting to be altered. I was six months post-partum and just weeks away from serving as a bridesmaid in the wedding of two dear friends—the first “real” event I’d be going to after having our son.
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