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.
The big day arrived last week. Alli and I went on our Washington, D.C. trip together and it blew me away. What blew me away, you ask? The kids.
I've written about feeling out of control in the past, and it's something I struggle with: when to let go and when to cling tightly.
When did I suddenly become invisible? And when did people in authority positions get so YOUNG? I think I know the answer to both questions, and it's not one I'm liking.