I’m drawn to the stories of women, of mothers.
But let’s backtrack for a minute.
When I was a kid, I read all the time. Judy Bloom, Nancy Drew, Sweet Valley High. Anybody else still remember Jessica and Elizabeth Wakefield from SVH? My surrogate sisters. A little later came Harlequin novels, full of heaving bosoms and shuddering sighs. Then mysteries. Eventually I just settled into novels, and I devoured them.
Continue reading “Read: When the Moon is Low”
I woke up just after 7 a.m. this morning to the sound of my kids dumping a box of Lego onto the living room floor.
Two or three years ago that noise would have catapulted me out of bed in a semi-conscious attempt at damage control that would have probably ended with me stepping on a handful of pieces of Lego – which, as we all know, were put on this earth to inflict parental puncture wounds – and then swearing as I collapsed on the couch in pain.
Continue reading “Blog: When your kids grow out of needing you”
When my children were babies, I’d hear the same thing over and over again: “Enjoy this time! It goes so fast.”
And I’d look at these well-meaning people through bloodshot eyes and think, Are you completely insane?
Continue reading “Blog: All I want is to find every beautiful thing”