Love in the Age of Parenting

Valentine’s Day is coming up soon, and that means restaurant specials and sappy McDonald’s commercials and aisles of pink and red things assaulting your eyes in the grocery store. For those of us with small children, it means coercing lovingly supervising valentine writing. “Just write one more name, honey, just one more, and we’ll call…

Parenting Grief

My daughter is making a soft crying sound in the back of her throat, like tiny inward sobs. It’s not crying, really. It’s a way for her to catch my attention, to let me know she is feeling sad about something. Age 5 and a solid introvert, she doesn’t often express her emotions outwardly (something…

Among A Worthwhile Wreckage

Years of mentoring parents-to-be in childbirth classes has made it obvious that there is a veil between what we think we are preparing for and what actually happens in the liminal spaces between this and that. Between preparing to do the work, and actually having to crawl on our knees in the muck through a…

Still Learning

I’m writing through the fog of a bad head cold today. A side effect of having small, independent-minded, growing humans in the house that I am sure you all are intimately familiar with. I mention this not to remind you that your next bad head-cold is only one germy kiss away, but rather because it…

Ad-libbed

“Mom, what does ad-libbing mean?” “It means making it up as you go along. When you don’t know what comes next, so you just make it up.” Satisfied, my 7-year-old returned to reading from one of his many Calvin and Hobbes books out loud to his sister. “‘I don’t think I’d have been in such…

Dying Again

The crispness in the air is mingling with the dry spiciness of fallen leaves and the sour tang of rotting apples. A few flowers are hanging on for the last of the warm days. The season of dying has arrived again. The time for shedding used-up ideas and old notions. I am grateful to live…

Need Me Differently

“Mom, I don’t want to need you less,” he said in a choked up voice. We were in the car after the usual get-ready-for-school spectacle, in which I inwardly wished multiple times for my oldest to take more responsibility for himself. We made it into the car on time after all, a miracle every time…