We hung a left onto the long gravel road and as the figures at the end became clearer, I could hardly contain my excitement. When I dropped the girls off at sleepaway camp a week earlier, I knew I would miss them. I didn’t realize just how strange and difficult it would be not to talk to them that entire time. Not to have even one quick phone call filling me in on the day’s events, telling me things were great, that the other girls were nice, that swimming was fun, that they have survived solely on pb+j for a whole week.
(Just a guess.) (More)
I’m cuddling on my bed with my girls, pens and envelopes strewn about the covers as I teach them how to address an envelope. I’m also trying to explain the difference between email and mail and why we need a stamp in the first place and why it costs $.49 to send a letter that could be free if we just used email already, besides, isn’t that faster?
“There’s no email at camp, sweetie.” (More)
This is a post about how I fucked up. And other stuff that I think is way more interesting than that, unless you’re some sort of strange person who actively wants me to fuck up (hi, my 10th grade English teacher who probably still hates me), in which case you can just focus on that part.
With every Annual List that comes out, comes the Annual Inevitable Backlash Against The List. I’ve been a part of both. When Babble first introduced a top bloggers list in 2009, there was a lot of talk about it. It had some gravitas. It was early in the mom blogging cycle of cycle-like things having to do with blogging (or something). I thanked the editors for including me, because it always feels nice to know someone likes your writing; but my immediate next instinct was to feel bad for all the great writers whose names I did not see. (More)