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
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
I am often losing myself in things, in seasons, quicker than a phase of the moon. I am able to be swallowed entirely by a single turn of events, or a string of such. Sometimes, all it takes is a song. Once, as a child, my swim coach pulls me aside after practice, holds the
Kids think of the best ideas. It all started with this book, launching a whole foray into Bee’s fervent mastery of the paper pocket, her small hands folding in and out of frustration over the attempts. After the skill was adequately aced, our home began to resemble a UPS store for a time, dozens of
Melted snow penguins on the back porch. Red pepper relish with dinner. A balmy 56 degree day in the middle of January and we didn’t even think to open the windows.
Moon? he says. It’s his favorite question each morning, and soon begins the raising of the eyebrows, a gesturing toward the front door. Moon? Moon? Moon? He wants to see it high in the sky, long after it’s gone, long after the birds are singing and the sun has risen. Often, I do too.
The baby will wake, often, up and down, eyes popping wide and fading shut, and it will be a running joke in your family that you, the mother, will be physically unable to lull him to sleep. The baby will have figured you out, he will have found the loophole. When he cries out and
Head’s Up: Sponsored by Huggies. I’ll always be a product of seasonal living. Growing up as the youngest child to two schoolteachers in a small Indiana town left its mark: stay focused, be diligent throughout the school year, but summer? In the summer, all bets are off. Summer, for us Midwesterners, is a season