I ended up watching “Barbie” the very next night, with my two youngest daughters. And then, although I rarely see any movie in the theater once, I went back a week later and watched “Barbie” a second time, because my husband needed to see it.
I recognized this path: I’d walked it before, and I knew it wound its way in hairpin turns along a steep ridge, so that one misstep could send you right off the mountain.
My 15-year-old daughter just completed lifeguard training and will soon be looking down upon the splashing masses at our town pool from atop the official lifeguard chair.
I often feel embarrassed about the seeming lack of constancy and direction in my life story. Am I simply lazy? Unmotivated? When I expressed these concerns to a friend recently, she said, “I think you’ve just had too many choices.”
I have an uneasy relationship in my head with singer/songwriter/cultural icon Taylor Swift.
Herein lies my real beef with The Giving Tree: It’s not just that the tree’s form of giving was bad for the tree, it was also bad for the boy.
The thing about special holiday traditions is that they are often stressful and messy.
In the middle of a March snowstorm, a lot of people put a lot of effort into saving the life of one mourning dove.
“Vacuuming can be therapeutic,” the middle-aged woman told my 22-year-old self.
With five children aged three to fifteen, my parenting radar sometimes get twitchy, oversensitive. My trigger finger gets itchy at every blip that shows up — and believe me, there are a lot of blips.
I wanted to write about love for Valentine’s Day. When I thought about love, I thought about my marriage beds.
Our family said goodbye to two remarkable women this past December: My grandmother and my aunt died within two weeks of each other.
Erick’s habits don’t impact me directly, nor has he ever tried to impose them upon me, but it’s almost impossible not to feel lazy and gluttonous next to his saintly levels of discipline.
The noise — those booms and pops and sizzles — may ward off evil, but it’s also a perfect, primal way to commemorate all the emotions of the past year.
As I am writing this there are nine days left until Christmas, and we still don’t have a Christmas tree.
