I’ve reached the age in which my nieces and nephews are graduating from high school, where gift-giving calls for a waffle-maker or a mini fridge rather than a Matchbox car, a stuffed teddy. It is jarring, always, for the adult to find she is the adult. I’d imagine it is even moreso jarring for a
It’s a running joke in our friend circle that I’m impossible to speed up (surprise, surprise) and Ken is impossible to slow down. A single glance at an empty calendar square and the man’s found a way to fill it with four conference calls, three house projects, two oil changes, one heaping pot of curry
Ken, out of town. In the evenings, I survey the sink and realize every dish accounted for is my own, or one prepared by me. No smoothie blenders on the drying rack, no spatulas dyed turmeric neon from late-night curry. I spend the week cooking recipes he hates or has grown tired of. Tuna for
Head’s up: Sponsored by Walmart.com. Lately, I have found myself feeling more Mary Poppins than Marine. Jolly holiday in lieu of boot camp, more singing of reminders (admittedly off-tune), less barking of commands. While there are a number of explanations worth considering – springtime on the horizon, the magical ages of near-6 and almost-2, tactical
Ask me how I know a woman is fully capable of leadership and I will tell you of a 3am morning, in a darkened nursery, rocking a baby with croup. His airways are swelled, he must sit upright. You rock and rock and rock, his body heavy with sleep, with relief, with you. Once rest
A daughter, running for the dining room register as the heat kicks on, perching atop the floor vents until her bare legs turn tiger-striped with indentations. We sit together, side-by-side, quiet. She asks me to count her freckles.
Head’s up: Sponsored by Walmart.com. And so it goes: another season whirring by, another set of feet having outgrown his footed pajamas. I take the kitchen scissors and snip off the toe seams so his feet can stretch through; watch two tiny strips of rockets fall to the floor. Scout will be 2 this summer
In the grocery store, my second year of college. I’m standing in the checkout lane, a cart full of “necessities” – a new shower curtain liner, shaving cream, Special K. I scan the rack displaying magazines and gum, flip through the latest issue of Glamour. A woman with my grandmother’s earrings waits in line behind