My husband is a Gujarati of Indian descent born and raised in Africa. Like me, he grew up in a household where his family’s cultural traditions, food, clothing and language were a source of pride and engrained in his childhood years.
Over the years I've worked a lot of crummy jobs. I've worked a lot of low-paying jobs and jobs that paid all right but worked me to the bone. I've been undercompensated; I've done jobs that were above my pay grade because I would work for less than I was worth. And I wasn't happy, but I can honestly say that I'm happy now. I only make $5.00 an hour, and I am happier with that than ever before....more
“We got dressed to go to the gym, but decided to put our house on the market instead,” my mother casually delivered this news to me on the phone and across the 1100 miles that now separate us. She was in the middle of preparing dinner; I was in the middle of a powerwalk.I always talk to my mother in transit. It is my way of multitasking, and she despises it. (Of course, preparing dinner while on the phone with me is the only acceptable version of multitasking, if she even acknowledges it as multitasking in the first place.)...more
Have you heard about the wicked wealthy witch who wrote a letter to Slate's Dear Prudence advice column complaining about her 1%-er neighborhood being overrun by mini vans full of less fortunate 99%-ers out to pilfer her mountain of full size $100,000 bars on Halloween? Here it is. Get ready to cringe and seethe simultaneously.
Lying is bad. I know this.But all parents sometimes lie to our kids. Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy are prime examples of lies we tell our kids. We dress up the lie in cute stories and fun experiences, but in the end, it's a lie.The biggest lie I tell my children isn't dressed up in fairy tales or glitter, though. It's simple, plain, and three words.I'm almost done. ...more
As a child, I remember reading about the Declaration of Independence in history class and quietly smiling to myself, thinking...THIS!...this is why my family is here.
"Mom, I want to enlist into the military."
But I cannot think of too many words, other than those my 15-year-old son has been saying, since he was 4 years old, that can simultaneously fill my heart with joy AND feel as if someone or something is trying to dig its way out of my chest, one spoonful at at a time.
"I really want to hang up my weed leaf tapestry in the basement," said my main mansky, Cransky, as we stood in the kitchen amongst piles of moving boxes.
"So hang it up."
"But it's got a giant WEED LEAF ON IT AND THERE ARE CHILDREN LIVING HERE."
Cransky makes a potent point. But! The green times they are a-changin'.
"Welllll, maybe we hang it up and it'll be a conversation starter about all the wonders of hemp," I responded....more
I’m not trying to be one of those moms that is forcing her daughter to reject super girly things. Though I'm no fan of the color pink, I do love wearing dresses, skirts and makeup. My daughter? She’s not even two years old yet, but she’s a rough-and-tumble chic....more
"Mom, there's been a shooting at MP. Someone is dead and we don't know who the shooter is."
I was just leaving my Zumba class Friday morning when my son called me with those words. MP is Marysville-Pilchuck, one of two high schools in our town of 60,000 people. My son attends Marysville-Getchell (MG), but I could hear the terror in his voice.
I'm feeling like maybe I've done all of this parenting stuff wrong. Maybe every choice I've made, every time I've encouraged our two sons to embrace their individuality, brought me to this point of infinite sadness. I fear there's no going back, there's no hope for change or a bright future. Nope. I've ruined everything.