Bang trims, watercolors, mango slices. Musical reenactments in the sunroom, her stage. She wants to know how to spell Gaston, needs to borrow a tote as a prop, asks me to put ‘Kill the Beast’ on repeat. For a bit, I say, sliding the door shut. She remembers candied pecans and puzzles from last winter,
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
“So there you have it: two things & I can’t bring them together & they are wrenching me apart. These two feelings, this knowledge of a world so awful, this sense of a life so extraordinary—how am I to resolve them?” ―Richard Flanagan There is something to be said for living life with open shutter
One of my most frequently asked questions in a podcast interview or Q&A session is always some measured form of this: OK, yes. I get it. I see the importance here. But how do I get my spouse/roommate/community to support and adapt to my decision to live more simply? How do I live as a
I fell into a bit of an impromptu travel season this month – three back-to-back trips with a weekend between. Just enough time to empty the suitcase into the laundry cycle, to re-roll and re-pack once it was refreshed. — I know two things: (1) I love this job. (2) I love this family. I
It is possible, and it is essential. Listen: we are doing ourselves no favors when we treat our news cycle as a Pez dispenser — when we pop onto our feed(s) and ingest, ingest, ingest another article/think piece/RT until we’re fat and depressed, full and sick. I will make absolutely no apologies for the increasingly
I grew up as far away from the kitchen as possible, knowing full well there was likely to be a mother stirring a skillet of Tuna Helper in need of someone to set the table (kids are the worst, man). And so, without a solid memory bank of practice, my food knowledge and stovetop creativity
This summer wasn’t a summer of reading for me. It was a summer of shooing away a toddler from outlets, of teaching a 5-year-old the differences between a redwood and a willow. It was an outside summer, a keep-em-busy summer, a run-em-wild summer, and on most nights, we all fell into bed with dirty feet
