It’s that time of year again: The time of my husband, Justin’s, annual trip to watch Spring Training for baseball in Arizona while I stay home with the kids on a supposed “Staycation,” managing things, doling out warmly welcomed life-lessons, as is a mom’s way. Back when I thought him going away with his friend
She had been having a hard time for days; Frustrated face, tears constantly threatening to brim her eyes. After several times of her answering “Nothing’s wrong! I’m just having a bad day for some reason,” I made a plan with her to take her ball and go to the local high school’s soccer field just
When it comes to the most intense parenting years, I would say I am in the thick of them. This is, of course, not including parenting age 3, which is in its own “war crime” category. Like the Voldemort of ages: We try not to speak of it. Right now I have two teenagers that
The words have hung inside me since you casually said them the other day. You, smiling over your shoulder at me, pleased. Me, struck in the gut by the realization of the weight of what you had just said. Things land differently on a mother’s than they do on other people’s skin. You were talking
I’m sure it was because he was over hearing us go back and forth about it. My girls have grown tired of me always wanting to take photos of them. The fifteen year old will almost certainly be rolling or closing her eyes with her arms crossed in the picture. The sixteen year old won’t