I think I am the sole human on this planet who is not totally enthralled with eunique, creative ways to announce a pregnancy. I read these articles (thanks Brian) and hear about all these clever ideas that took so much time and planning and love and puppies and are supposed to warm the cockles of my heart.
Alas, I feel no warmth. I feel no cockles. I feel kind of uncomfortable. And not just because of the word cockles. [click to continue…]
Over the past few weeks, my daughters have been driving me insanely batty over Halloween costumes. Evidently nine is the age at which you want to express your independence and go as “your own thing,” while seven is the age at which you want to come up with something collaborative with your older sister or friend as a sign of solidarity. Fun times.
While I was brainstorming with Sage about what she could be (I’m voting for Zombie Elsa and Zombie Anna, but so far, I can’t convince her that my ideas are always awesome) she suggested that she and her best friend could go as each other.
I asked her how exactly she planned on dressing like her friend, bracing myself for the answer I knew was coming.
“Well, I could put brown face paint on my face…” she started, before I cut her off.
Her best friend was born in Ethiopia.
Should you ever be interested in explaining the offensive history of blackface and minstrelsy to a child and doing it in the most awkward way possible, I can give you my exact script at some later date. [click to continue…]
I want to write about Ello, but the truth of the matter is, it’s too late. When early adopter techno goth users are already complaining, you know it’s over. Plus, I’m not cool enough to have started Ello then quit it before anyone has even heard of it, making me a bougie slave-to-the-man poser like everyone else. All the important people say so.
I am planning on starting a social network that isn’t meant to be social. I’ll call it an unpronounceable symbol. Every avatar will be the same, as a metaphor for our lemming-like inner nature. When you search someone you know, you’ll only get a result for Mark Zuckerberg, to make you rethink the real definition of “friend.” [click to continue…]
Thalia came home one night from school last week, delighted to inform me about a school rule mandating no homework on weekends.
No homework on weekends. [click to continue…]
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…]