Ah, December. My daughter’s Advent book says that this month’s name is derived from the Latin word decem, meaning ten, because it was originally the tenth month of the year in the calendar of Romulus. But I’ve got another theory. Could it also be because everything – everything! – in the month of December is
A noiseless patient spider, I mark’d where on a little promontory it stood isolated, Mark’d how to explore the vacant vast surrounding, It launch’d forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself, Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them. And you O my soul where you stand, Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space, Ceaselessly musing,
My daughter tells me over breakfast that certain butterflies die once they give birth. She points to a crayon drawing she’s made: a dead monarch falling down from the sky, little Xs where eyes could be. Sounds about right, I think as I grind the coffee beans. — The baby is 1 and a half
There’s a reason there are tea rings on my dining room table, tie-dye stains on my deck. There’s a reason Ken built a ramp to slide down the basements stairs and a rock climbing wall to reach the heights of our master bedroom. There’s a reason that, just a few months ago, we bought a
They said it would happen like this: The baby will come and you’ll never be able to imagine anything otherwise. She’ll just fit, they said. You’ll see. (They were right.) —
Here’s what we have: me, 8 months pregnant, balancing a laptop on a burgeoning belly with two snoring dogs under a pair of propped-up feet. The clock reads 3am. It is quiet, cozy, warm. Perfect conditions for sleeping – unless, of course, you are not. (I am not.)
Months ago, when COVID-19 was still a whisper, I was interviewed by a local San Francisco news station about my homeschooling plan for kids ages 2-7. The segment was long, the questions many. How much school do kids “need”? How can working families pull it off? What’s your advice for those just getting started? Six
A day in the life of a homeschooling parent can look much like a day in the life of any parent. You rise, navigating a dark hallway lined with mismatched socks and cardboard swords. You trip over a sleeping dog or two. You wait for your world to wake up, or at least the one