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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