“You're here for the swimming test, right?” said Jeff, the teen lifeguard with red trunks that hit mid-thigh and blonde feathered hair, parted down the middle. He was beyond cute.

Even though sometimes we feel like nothing we do is working, we know to keep trying, because each day we are blessed with little rewards for our hard work.

These times that they played together, the geek and the jocks, afternoons filled with teasing, filth, joy, injury and encouragement . . . those are the experiences that shape a childhood and strengthen the bonds of brotherhood.

The assumption that women’s primary function is to be “cute,” to not upset or startle anyone around them with “unfeminine” behavior, deserves to be called out loudly and aggressively. 

You’re a woman now whether you like it or not. There is one important thing you need to know. Your vagina is not a tchotchke.

This decision does not come without a heavy dose of guilt. My husband would love to have one more child.

I asked my husband to handle the teeth brushing, the book reading, the cuddling. He needs interaction; I need to be alone.

If I knew he was dying I would have savored that diving lesson. I would have held onto every word he said, written down his instructions, treasured the tone in which he called me Cupcake. I would have hugged him harder, and more often. And I would have stayed at the water’s edge until I got it just right.

That’s okay. For a moment, I saw the person he is today, and I have hope for the person he’ll be tomorrow. I hope he’ll be someone who looks up and takes the time to regard the sky, and think that it’s pretty.

Jen and I agreed that we deserved, at the very least, a night free of kids and husbands – free of the demands of everything except for our 30-year-old friendship. So why was it so hard to make that happen?