I just want to change the world, she said

I was a child of the 90’s. The generation was not quite as turbulent as those preceding it and not nearly as promiscuous as what would soon come.  It was wedged in between the y2k bubble and ACDC. Somewhere in between hairspray and Trapper Keepers. Overall, the 90s weren’t that exciting. Void of snapchat, #Blacklivesmatter and college protests. We still used dial-up connection and a land line.…

There is pen on my couch. Graham crackers are crushed into pieces in the hallway. There is tinsel in nearly every corner and crevice of my home. My presents aren’t wrapped. My cookies aren’t baked. And I’ve yet to even finish my shopping. I had to bake a cake for a Christmas party yesterday and because I was short on time, tried to pick it up before it was completely cooled. White fluffy coconut…

Simply put, “raising kids is part joy and part guerrilla warfare.” The truth is, being a mother of two kicks your butt in ways only mothers of two can possibly understand. (Or those mommies of three and four (I silently pray for you.)) Particularly, it’s pretty tough in the early morning when you’re trying to wrangle both out of their pajamas and into some as semblance of clothing for the day…

“The days are long, but the years are short”

In the past 61 days Noah has attended school maybe 7 days. And that’s being generous.

We have had a seemingly endless stretch of snow days coupled with a viscous cycle of a nasty viral infection since Christmas leaving our household smelling like Lysol, our baking cabinet depleted and the kiddos slightly delirious.

We have opened, constructed and deconstructed every Christmas and birthday gift…

We have recently made the decision to no longer attempt taking the children to restaurants.

I love my children. But, they can and will turn into the spawn of satan immediately upon entering any respectable establishment, and by respectable I mean anything in the realm of Chili’s or On the Border because we do not dare to go anywhere without booths. Or chips and salsa.

What is it about the Top…

Nearly an entire year has passed since I last shared anything with any of you. All two of you at this point (my mother and aunt who have lovingly encouraged this little piped team.) With 2014 come and gone and only a couple of posts to show for the most overwhelming, crazy, life-changing year of my life, I’ve decided to make 2015 the year of getting back to my blog. As my son’s *gasp* fourth…

Toddlerdom : an overview

Parenting is hard work. But, we’ve made it through the woeful one’s, the terrible two’s, and now,…

Life with two

Your life changes with two. That’s expected. Two car seats. Two bath times. Two bed times.…

In theory, freelance writing is the perfect solution to the stay home with the kids v. be a career woman conundrum.

I can organize myself around a few interviews a week and still be the full-time diaper-changing-chicken…

Day four of inconsistent, torturous, sporadic, horrifying, disgusting, hair-pulling, head-banging,… http://wp.me/s2QhWm-280

Ah sleep. Uninterrupted, blissful, better-than-sex sleep. Seemingly attainable, yet just out of the reach of my swollen little pig stubs that are a sad excuse for my former fingers.

Sleep. I think about sleep the way a 15 year-old thinks about boobies.

My father always said, “Before you know it, it’ll be over.”

Whether he was referring to the grueling early season soccer practices in the unbearably humid afternoons of late August or my contractions during labor; anticipating the end of high school and…

It’s easy to lose sight of the larger perspective when we’re caught up in daily life–signing permission slips, making lunches, teaching our children to be kind to one another. It doesn’t always feel as if we’re doing anything truly profound. And yet with…

I never took part in the “hot lunch” program at my elementary school. Or rather, any school I attended.

I was a lunch-in-a-brown-paper-bag kinda gal. Not because we couldn’t afford it or because my parents didn’t think there was enough nutritional…

I looked forward to it all week. It was just two hours, plus maybe 15 minutes of travel time each way. But they were our two hours.

At the end of his very long week, working two jobs and often on most Saturdays, my dad would take me to the roller rink.

All I’ve been able to think about for the past week is 20 backpacks. Twenty backpacks perfectly packed with notebooks and pencils, folders and lunch boxes. Twenty backpacks hanging on the hooks of the first grade classrooms at Sandy Hook Elementary School.

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