Abuse of women takes all forms. It is often where and when you least expect it. It is not the realm of the weak and emotionally compromised. It is not limited along socioeconomic lines. It is not always logical.
You may know this. Or, you may say it out loud, but deep down you ask yourself or whisper in hushed tones to like-minded friends, Why would they stay? I know I sure wouldn’t.
Because I used to be that way too.
The Ray Rice abuse video was extremely hard to watch yesterday, because I could imagine so many more familiar faces appearing there, above Janay Palmer’s shoulders. [click to continue…]
I haven’t written here in 12 days. I’m fairly sure that’s the longest stretch since I started the blog in 2006. While posting has become lighter over the past year as responsibilities change, children grow up, social media beckons, it still makes me twitchy to step away from Mom-101. And yet, I couldn’t write. Not about some glorious family vacation memories, not about the funny things Sage is saying, not about the most perfect NYC weather in the history of all Augusts ever, and not about anything.
Because, Ferguson. [click to continue…]
This is a post I hope you will leave a comment on. Because it will save a life, thanks to the UN Foundation’s Shot@Life Campaign. A real life of a real child. Please read more info below.
This year, as my readers know by now (along with anyone who has been unlucky enough to run into me at any point for the last month), my children went to sleepaway camp for the first time. The day I arrived to pick Thalia up after two weeks to see the remarkable young woman she had started to become, was one of the most amazing, memorable days of my life. Or as I referred to it on Twitter, one of the worst days of her life.
(Sorry kid. This returns us to our regularly scheduled lives. Also, take out the garbage.) [click to continue…]
In June, to celebrate the last week of school, I let my kids walk to school by themselves. It’s about a 3 minute walk, in which they pass roughly 800,000 friends and schoolmates (give or take) that they know. I debated about it for months, however.
My kids are highly responsible. The route to school involves no major streets to cross. They know how to look both ways and make eye contact with a driver at stop signs before they cross. They know about stranger dangers. In the end, it seemed a sensible choice.
We did about 16 practice runs first, in which I walked behind them and pretended I wasn’t there. They were marvelous. (Or as marvelous as a child can be doing something as mundane as walking a few blocks.) So when I sent them off that one morning–watching them the entire way, but don’t tell them that–it was monumental. A big step for both of us. A major milestone crossed off, another one of the small freedoms a parent starts to bestow on a responsible tween who has earned it.
And yet I confess I was terrified to write about it here.
Absolutely panicked. [click to continue…]
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.) [click to continue…]
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.” [click to continue…]
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. [click to continue…]