In the last weeks of his life, I would talk to my dad on the phone every day. It was January, and at the same time his heart and lungs were deteriorating, my body was helping those organs grow inside the baby I’d been carrying for more than 40 weeks.
Harry was the black and white Boston terrier my husband and I got when we couldn’t have a baby. The Bee was the Halloween costume we bought for him on a whim at a chic pet store.
How much should I, as a parent, get involved to help my children fight their battles and how much should I just let them figure things out themselves?
Halloween is a bit extra special to me because of the ones I kind of missed out on.
Caught up in the stress of my day; heavily trafficked streets, rushing around to make sure I was on time, I had spent too much time in my head. I came home and I was distracted, because the busyness of the day had thrown me off c
As a mother, this is possibly the most difficult part of the job; knowing when it’s time to let go.
In high school I’d come over to my grandparent’s house on weekend mornings. In college I’d show up a little closer to dark. It didn’t matter though because he always asked if I was hungry and when I was he’d cook me an egg.
I thought I had more time. I thought I had at least months or—I’d hoped—years before this would start. Before Ryan’s babyish innocence would be slowly and matter-of-factly chipped away, one peer-inflicted comment at a time.
This morning Eric and I stared down at these old licenses we were about to surrender to you with delightful nostalgia.
It’s been five years since the first of these headaches sent me to the emergency room on a June night. I’d spent the day in dark rooms, first at my house then at an urgent care center hooked up to an IV receiving fluids.
