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The Missing Mezuzah

This is a house of stories. Although it wasn't- isn't- my dream home, my dreams have come true within its walls.Four years ago this month, I walked up the front porch steps for the very first time. We knew the owners; they were looking to sell in a rush out of town.I'd passed this house a thousand times as a little girl on my bike, pedaling hard to catch up to the big kids. I'd thrown rocks in the creek across the street, trick-or-treated here in my purple poodle skirt....more

Ditching the Paci: Why I'm Not in a Rush

It’s two am and like clockwork she appears at my bedside. By now I’m accustomed to this routine: the creak of the door, the sound of her footy pajamas shuffling down the hall, and then, arms raised, she whispers Mama.Mama, I want you.Without a thought I hoist her body over mine, and soon she’s a tiny bird between us, settled, roosting. The only sounds in the world: the whir of the fan. The tug of the sheets. The rhythmic in and out of the pacifier that pacifies me....more


Very touching article.  I could feel your sadness for the woman and your love and joy for your son. more

"Ma'am, your milk is leaking" and Other Cringe-Worthy Mommy Moments

I'd had a long day.We'd been late for preschool and the dinner had burned. My third grader had forgotten his spelling list at school and we were out of training pants.By the time I got to Target that evening it was late. And I was the kind of tired known only to mothers and lumberjacks after a third shift. I made it through the aisles in a daze. Paper towels? Check. Laundry detergent? Check. Pull-ups and paper plates? Check and check. A few more grocery items and I was done....more

Loving a Wild Child

Spirited. Willful. Passionate. Intense. All euphemisms for the wild child.When my middle child’s preschool evaluation referred to his “zest for life” I didn’t need a translator to interpret the teacher-speak.This is the same child who, from his changing table, once slapped me across the face and exclaimed IJUSTLOVEYOUSOMUCH!The same child who can contort his face in three directions when he doesn’t get his way.He doesn’t have a casual relationship with anything....more

The Sensitive Child

My eight year old is a sensitive child. He’s not sensitive in the way that many take it to mean: easily hurt, delicate, thin-skinned.This child is sensitive in that his capacity for feeling– for perceiving– is great. It’s a gift.He’s effusive with his love- for me, for his little sister, for all things Star Wars....more

What It Means to be a Work at Home Mom

Every major decision involving my children is wrought with anxiety.Should we intervene or let him fight his own battle?Is the procedure the specialist is pushing for really necessary?Should we send him to kindergarten next year or keep him in preschool?...more

Motherhood Is Not A Word Problem

Ten a.m. and the house is quiet. The breakfast dishes are drying on the counter, and there's dough rising high in a bowl by the sink. I sit sorting though the magazines that have collected in the basket for a month. Soon, I remember, it will be time to feed the dogs.Two p.m. and I search the cupboard and reach for a bag in the back. I grind the beans, savor the smell that rises thick as the steam reaches them. I am trained, I've trained myself, to appreciate this small reward....more

Two Unrelated Hearts

I have given birth three times: twice of my body and once of my heart. It's a complicated thing-- telling a story that's not your own. Knowing where to draw the boundaries. Knowing what to share, which details to skip like smooth rocks on the water's surface.There's a space between where his story ends and mine begins. I'm looking for that place today, that intersection between two unrelated hearts....more