With the snip of a pair of scissors, my daughter turned from girl to teen. Last weekend, she had 13 inches of hair cut off and donated to Locks of Love.
It’s not that I don’t want happy. Believe me, it’s what I pray for.
Back in my younger days, when I went to college in North Carolina, I became part of a group of hippies and outcasts who bonded together in our love for the Grateful Dead.
With Independence Day looming (I’m reminded nightly by the loud booms and bangs of fireworks that wake my almost-asleep son), it's time to reflect on the ways we’ve “independenced” ourselves since
So here’s the thing about being a parent: if you have more than one kid, there’s a strong chance you have parallel universes you reside in all at the same time. It’s not science fiction.
It was 3:30 a.m. and we walked out the front doors of an empty hospital. The halls had echoed with each step we took, leading us farther and farther away from our crying daughter.
As of 9:15 p.m. Thursday, I will be officially the mother of a teenager. My firstborn turns 13 and I can feel the gray hairs popping out already.
Around 2 a.m. last week I took a nap on the couch for about two and a half hours before getting up to get ready to leave for Baltimore, Maryland.
When I was young, back in the glory days of the 1970s, there was a girl in my school whose last name was Jenner, and she said her cousin was then-superstar Olympian Bruce Jenner.