You’re a mother, but you want to be a doctor. You’re a chef, but you want to be a hair stylist. You’re a tattoo artist, but you want to be a writer. You’re a student, but you want to be a musician. You’re a musician, but you want to be a student. You’re a this,
Surely you don’t ever struggle with taking constructive criticism personally? Surely you don’t consider yourself open-minded, open-hearted, ready and able to accept even the harshest of feedback until suddenly, you find yourself with wet hair and cold coffee and your pants are feeling tight and the toddler is whining and your husband chooses this precise
There was a time I didn’t answer the door. — Once, when I was pregnant with Bee, an acquaintance I’d known from church asked if she could bring dinner over after the baby was born. Do you like Greek? she’d asked. (I love Greek.) But then, the baby was born and the visitors descended and
When your dad’s a photographer/filmmaker, you’re bound to pick up an interest sooner or later. It’s in the air, a synergy of moments and movements, of creating and curating, of noticing, of stillness, of shhhhh. The edit. — Can I have my own camera? she asks. Someday, I say, and I find myself asking Ken
I’m never gonna bite my nails again, Bee says to me over pistachios. I want to channel my mother, to say Never say never!, to offer a teachable lesson, but I choose to crack another shell instead. Yeah? I say. Yeah, she says. — I’ve been thinking about it, I guess. I’ve been thinking about
“And every day, the world will drag you by the hand, yelling, “This is important! And this is important! And this is important! You need to worry about this! And this! And this!” And each day, it’s up to you to yank your hand back, put it on your heart and say, “No. This is
A few weeks ago, I’m boiling quinoa when I look up to see Ken and Bee parade through the front door. They’re lugging a bulging leather tote of books and waving a DVD over their heads in celebration of their recent library spoils. Mom! It’s Finding Nemo! Bee says. Harmless, right? Ken winks. It’s raining,
She: Collecting ants. Digging for worms. Riding loops on her balance bike. Reading her first sentences. Fighting with Bernie. Asking for Band-Aids, asking to visit Grandma, asking for a sibling. Wishing for the moon. He: Planning a renovation project for fun (I cannot relate to this man’s level of energy). Listening to 70’s on high