How can I capture the softness of his skin? The smell of him sleeping? The gentleness of his searching touch in slumber. His cascading embrace as he tumbles towards me in open trusting adoration. The innate sense of justice in sharing his affection between our bodies and his equal indignation with his sister’s slights. His… Read More Relentless Rumination

It started at 3 a.m. Nothing good ever starts at 3 a.m. The baby woke up wanting to gab and acting as if it was time to get up. I knew this because he was chanting “mama” in my face and blowing raspberries on my breasts. This was followed by the discovery that Nora’s light… Read More No one should be awake at this hour.

Me: One episode of Daniel Tiger and then nap. Understood? Nora: Ok, mama. Me: Ok, I’m going to go put Owen down for his nap. N: Ok. (I leave the room with Owen. Nurse him, lay him down in his crib, start to leave the bedroom when the TV volume cranks up and wakes him.… Read More Is it me?

Our baby is an asshole. To quote comedian, Tom Papa, children “are the worst roommates ever” and our children are no exception. Owen wakes us at 4am to chat. And by chat I don’t mean talk at a reasonable volume and cuddle. No. He wakes up jabbering, clawing, pinching, flailing, kicking, farting, grunting, and generally… Read More 8 months and 3.5 years

I’m trying to hold onto the moments of joy and find laughter in the ones I can’t let go. There’s a vague sense of dramatic irony about the life of having small children. You sense even at your low moments that an outsider would find it amusing, and that you will as well some day,… Read More Ironic Repetition

Once upon a time I went through a horrible breakup. I felt gutted and hollow, physically in pain to the point of gasping for breath like a fish thrown from the water, he had cheated on me and thrown me out. He had broken our engagement, my heart, and left me homeless. My emotions were… Read More Numb from the brain down

Owen crawls like an alligator but fast, he likes to study your skin and use his razor nails to rip your blemishes/moles/skin tags off when you least expect it/sleeping, he talks loudly and angrily…constantly, he likes to put his head in baskets and buckets to ram things, he likes to sit facing forward on your… Read More Almost 8 months and 3 years respectively

Sibling rivalry, spouse vs children rivalry, friend rivalry, chickens vs the neighborhood; life is all about conflict and coping. I asked a fellow mother, jokingly in tone but pleading in truth, “Does it get easier?” “No,” I was thunderstruck by the harshness of her tone and directness, “It gets different, never easier.” I was hurt… Read More Does it get easier?

Owen is 28″ long, 20lbs., has two teeth and four on the way, crawls, is starting to sit up, claps his hands and laughs in response to his mother’s singing or to praise himself, has boundless amounts of joy only to be matched by his endless capacity for making noise, is terrified of any loud… Read More 7 months old and 3 years

Sometimes the lessons we teach our children are crucial to their safety, health, social skills, or to our own sanity. No matter how kind and goodhearted they are; they, just like their flawed genetic sources, are human and have the capacity to drive you to drink, swear, and say the most peculiar comments to get… Read More We don’t dance in the bathroom.

Owen turned six months old yesterday. He’s rolling, crawling (mostly the angry shrimp maneuver), trying to sit up, laughs easily, smiles frequently, loves to be tickled and cuddled, headbutts and kicks like a soccer player, gives open mouth kisses across your face with a sprinkler head action, strokes my face and chest with his hands… Read More 6 months

Sometimes I hear myself and others complaining, kvetching, and wonder if we’re all in a competition of suffering. As if the inconveniences and discomfort experienced as a parent are badges of honor and the more we suffer the better parent we are to our children, more dedicated than the next person, yet what does that… Read More Martyrdom of motherhood

Baby Owen sports a natural mohawk, signals he wants to nurse by smacking his lips and slapping my boob, gives open mouth sprinkler kisses that start at one cheek and end at your ear, pulls my hair and chirps “hi” at me at 4am, picks up my hand and holds it against his face while… Read More Assimilation of the sibling

Some Nora sayings as of late: Get off! (My least favorite.) I did, you be, is am. Uh-oh, spaghettio. (Note: She’s never had Spaghettios. Just a bad daycare experience that taught her this.) Ya’ aaare. (Meaning “I did”, ” I am.”) I a princess. You dah mama. It went beep-beep, beeee-yooop, reereeree…it did. You go… Read More “I love you EVERY DAY…even the weekend.”

Most of my childhood I felt as if the world was holding a secret from me and that once I was an adult all would be revealed. But that’s just one of the many cruel jokes of childhood though. Much like your first teeth, your first pubic hairs, your first fight, your first loss, or… Read More The secret

My husband and I greet each other in the morning with the pointless, yet empathetic, question of, “How did you sleep?” We have a five month old and a three year old, short answer: badly. We talk about the elusive sleep of the past like it’s a distant exotic land, a rare vintage of wine,… Read More Sleep is the new smack

The love I have for my daughter has changed me in ways I wouldn’t have predicted, helped me love myself, made me a better person, and caused endless turmoil. We tell her we love her, we give her one-on-one attention, we try to stick to routines and we only promise what we can make good… Read More Night and day.

I like to answer my own questions, even when they’re rhetorical. The winged movement of the protection hand comes out to aid, block, motion, and corral your children, spouse, strangers, and pets in all situations not just driving. People walk the way they drive and shop the way they parent. I always stay to the… Read More Parental phenomena

For years I’ve had people tell me my eyes are brown when I know they’re hazel. I use to argue with them. Now I just smile and forever avoid the person taking their misstatement as a sign of their assholedom and unworthiness of friendship. So when our son was born with hazel eyes (like his… Read More They’re hazel, dammit!