Categories: Art & Poetry // biznass // Dread // Foster & Adopt // Grievances // Joys // Misophonia // writing // all
My Youth Is Theirs
At the same rate that I can feel my youth slipping through my hands like a 100% polyester going-out top from Forever 21, I can feel my daughters’ youth accumulating in theirs.
Blowing Smoke & Growing Flowers
Ah, that feeling of contributing to the 6th mass extinction while saving the monarchs.
Summer Sibs
They’ve stayed up to too late every night for 400 years. They’ve watched every show on PBS Kids, Disney Kids, Netflix Kids, and you’re tempted to introduce them to TikTok and never see them again.
5 a.m.
But, as one does, I realized that 5 a.m. alarm didn’t feel so good. I missed it once. I missed it again. It wasn’t great. I wasn’t Good Mom – I was pretty cranky with my raring-to-go family. But school was close to done; did it really matter if everyone wasn’t exactly fed and dressed? Then, school was done and where did they need to be, anyway?
Subject Line: Take action to protect your data.
Email preview: The cognitive dissonance of global business in times of geopolitical upheaval.
To Be Young
But this isn’t a story about things lost. Youth. Running. Identity. Or, at least, it’s not only a story about that. It’s about the inevitable morphing one does in big and small ways. It’s about what that morphing takes, no matter how old we get
Dance Mom (Part 2: I Take It Back)
Maybe—and this unfortunately means accepting that past me was a snobby bitch—maybe being a Dance Mom has changed me. For good.
Snow Flowers
I made a discovery on one of those relentless January days: two of my houseplants had flowered.
A Weekend at Home in America
I spent an hour that afternoon carefully mending our 8-year-old neighbor’s lovies, four identical rabbits that were loved so hard their heads fell off.