Passive Aggressive Notes: From My Son?

Monday I made my famous ribs (okay the only difference with my ribs and these is that I use freshly grated ginger and much less sugar and honey) and invited one of my favorite tennis parters to join us for supper. Jackie is an amazing tennis player, but in addition to that she’s a lovely guest. As a retired school teacher she just seems to know what to bring kids. Each of my kids got a packet of eco-friendly pencils, a few colored pens, a highlighter and Post It Notes. …

When We Fail Our Children

Having just returned from our daughter Jane’s parent teacher conference, I’m trying to decide if writing about it is fair or not. This is her school, no? Sadly, although it is her school the conference is my failure. It’s not a small failure either, it’s my downfall as a mother, perhaps as a wife too. I am completely and utterly disorganized. Not like, “ooh where did I put that” but more like, “Oh I’m so sorry we came to our parent teacher conference a day early.” To cap it all …

You’re, Like Totally Invading their Privacy

So I’m on the soccer field and a Dad looks at me knowingly, “I googled you and it was, um, fun.” The Mommies look at my slyly and whisper, “please don’t talk about the time I ______.” No worries, darlin’ I don’t tell your secrets to anyone. I do, however, share my kids’ secrets, and some people think that’s bad. Are Mommy Bloggers in the business of exploiting their children? Short answer? Oh yeah. Long answer? Yes, and we’re entitled to it. Let me explain why.

Carpeting and the Sketches She Drew

We’re getting new carpet, and that means every item needs to be off the floor today. Even the box. You know the box. Everyone has one. My box was first my Grandmother’s box. When we packed her up in the middle of a blizzard in 1996 and moved her out of the apartment she’d rented since 1945, I stole a box of her belongings. They were her drawings. My Grandmother loved to sketch and I hear tales of my mother having painted a few canvases too. In 1965 they bore …

Freckle is not an F-Word

This afternoon I picked the kids up from school, and Jane came running across the yard. “Mom, we got our school pictures today! Mom, guess what? They took everyone’s freckles away. Everyone!” Jane was ebullient. I was struck dumb. “Mom,” she continued, “You wouldn’t even recognize Caitlin, without her freckles she looks so different!” “Show me.” I said, as I smiled through closed lips. At this point Alexander had flown across the sport court with his white envelope flying in the breeze. “Mom, look! No freckles.” It was the talk …