Not long ago, I found myself rushing to the grocery store to get something one of my kids needed the next day for school. It was late and I was tired, preoccupied, and annoyed. Like most moms, I was running behind an endless to-do list that seemed to square itself and multiply whenever I wasn’t looking. Snow …
Recently, I got this card from my husband and kids: On the surface, you could read this as, “You’re an awesome Mom/Wife/Food Sanitation Expert/Cleaning Lady!” Digging a little deeper though, there’s a hidden meaning behind each of their missives, one that involves birth order, timing, and various stages of psychological development. Allow me to explain. …
Last Friday, my eight year-old daughter, Essa, stayed home from school with a bad case of everyone-else-in-my-class-is-sick-so-I-wanna-be-sick-too-itis. As a mother, I’ve experienced these strange illnesses before. My son, Taylor, once had I-can’t-go-to-school-because-I-sprained-my-ankle-and-halfway-through-my-day-off-started-limping-on-the-wrong-foot syndrome, and my other daughter, Grace, recently struggled with I-didn’t-get-my-book-report-finished-therefore-I’ll-cry-until-my-face-turns-an-unnatural-shade-of-puke-so-I-can-stay-home-and-finish-it disorder. Needless to say, I’m usually unsympathetic to the sudden onset of these …
My youngest, Essa, just got her first email address. Of all the puppies, ponies, and Justin Bieber images available on the World Wide Web, this is what she chose as her inaugural missive. To me. It was titled “Make Drinks.” Did I mention she’s eight? Apparently the fruit and the tree are forever intertwined.
Let me start by inserting a spoiler alert. I wrote this after shotgunning about a gallon of NyQuil. Yesterday I was bragging to my husband, Scot (who’s fighting off a tiny cold and is bedridden for the foreseeable future…likely until America pole vaults off the fiscal cliff) that due to my impervious genetic make-up, I haven’t …
I’ve never really used the word “evil”. I don’t like it. Pronouncing it turns my mouth in the wrong direction and my face into an ugly sneer. The word is as powerful as the actions it’s meant to describe, and it makes me feel uncomfortable. Even the juxtaposition of consonants and vowels is wrong, like …
I love traveling with my children, especially now that they can schlep my bags. But there was a time when I actually had to haul them around the airport, and that kind of sucked. Nothing ruins a brand new pedicure like a toddler who’s broken free of his LoJack-inspired five point harness stroller restraints and …
There’s nothing that tugs at a parent’s heart like the hollow face of a hungry child. On the other hand, there’s nothing that makes a parent’s eyeballs distend, roll backwards, and practically dislocate themselves, like witnessing the antics of a child who feels a little hungry, complains about it, and expects a custom-made meal to be …
If the word “Mom” is supposed to be a term of endearment, why do my kids use it as a four-letter word? Even though “Dad,” by default, should elicit close to the same response, its aura is closely guarded by the lovely ankle-biters who buzz around my being like well-intended gnats in the same way …
No, not you. The you I’m referring to in this post is my seven-going-on-seventeen year-old daughter, Essa. Running short on time and long on things to do, I had a simple conversation with my little girl the other day that went something like this. Me: Essa, we’ve gotta pick up Taylor and Grace. Get in your …
READING BETWEEN THE PINES 