As I write this my husband and I are staring at the reality of spending a sixth day snowed in with our seven-year-old son. Yes, sixth. As in one, two, three, four, five, and six. Our part of the country got hammered by Winter Storm Jonas, and we’re probably looking at a few more house-bound days while our southern city’s
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Oh hello there, 2016. I didn’t expect to see you so soon. If you’re like me, you’re probably still trying to wrap your head around the fact that we just finished out another year. I keep thinking “2016? As in 16 years after all that Y2K hubbub that I still remember so clearly? How did I get here?” If I’m
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When my youngest cousin was little,* he called me Ballerina. My name is Valerie, and that initial V sound can be tricky for some really young kids. So, you know, Balerie…Ballerina–it was a logical jump for a toddler to make. I spent the summer after my junior year of college working as a nanny for a little boy** who was
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I’m currently working through what (I hope) are the final days of a nasty case of bronchitis. I spent five of the last seven days with a seal-like cough, a dull headache, and a fever hovering right around 102, Tylenol be damned. Save a case of the flu and a brief but memorable visit from the Norovirus last year, this
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As you probably gathered from my presence on this blog, I’m a writer. And although this is the year 2015, I’m one of those rare writers who still writes first drafts with pen and paper. For me, making letters with my fingers is the most efficient way to pull thoughts out of my brain. From there I can “smash them,
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I became a mostly stay-at-home mother* a few months after our son’s second birthday. Around that same time, my husband’s work hours went a little kooky, often requiring me to solo-parent** our toddler from breakfast to bedtime several days in a row. I went from spending my days in a quiet office with considerate companions who let me go to
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When my husband and I first began talking about starting a family—both during the abstract musings of our first years of marriage and later on as the ifs morphed into whens—we always said we’d have two kids. He’s an only child, and I’m the youngest of three, and we each were leaning towards replicating the situation in which we grew up,
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One hour after my son got home from his last day of kindergarten, I presented him with this piece of paper: Yep. I know. I am so mean. As he’d barely tasted the freedom that comes with the final clang of the school bell, as visions of days spent playing Minecraft danced in his head, I shoved some real-talk right
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