It’s still fairly early on a Sunday when the three-year-old calls the dog an idiot.
“Come here sweetie pie, come here you little idiot,” she singsongs from the playroom.
I’m not sure where she got the idea that “idiot” is some kind of term of endearment. I know when I’m calling people idiot as they swerve into my lane without signaling when I drive down the highway, no doubt late to somewhere, I’m not using it in a nice way.
At least she didn’t call the dog an asshole.
Still, I hang my head over the cucumber I’m slicing, ignore whoever foot-steps into the kitchen as though nothing of great concern has happened, as though I didn’t hear the three-year-old at all. I even start humming. Continue reading →
I could hear the rumble of the crowd from the narrow alcove just off stage, but I couldn’t bring myself to peek out. We were the last act, the big finish. Suddenly, my jeans felt too tight, my mouth parched.
“Anyone have any water?” I croaked. Someone handed me a juice box. This was a bad idea. Continue reading →
I can’t remember my routine or rituals before I had children. Back then, everything was my own: my time, my breakfast, the good morning kiss with my husband. Maybe there was the ritual of showering in peace or toast with butter, the routine of catching MUNI at a certain time to get to work by 8:30 a.m. After work, there was room for drinks with coworkers, a movie, dinner out. At the end of the day there was the comfy couch and Josh, a book, sex, sleep. Life was an easy flowing river.
Now, life’s a constant class 4 rapid and I’m often the one steering the raft. Continue reading →
What It Feels Like To Be a Special Needs Mom by Kristi Rieger Campell: Kristi is one of those true and bright bloggers who never fails to move me with her insight and heart. Her essay about being a special needs mom landed her in the Washington, DC 2014 Listen to Your Mother event. Check out the video at the end of the piece. Continue reading →
In some ways, this has been a year of profuse connection. In other ways, I’ve never felt more alone. My writing connected me to people both close to home and far away as well as to hundreds of thousands out in the world. The whirlwind of publishing, commenting, connecting, the pinging back and forth of heartfelt sentiments and “me too!” was incredibly rewarding. Connecting in that way was like being inside a big, warm hug – but it was mostly online.