By the time my mother was my age, she was a bit of a homebody. She would decline most out-of-state invitations, explaining that since she worked for herself, there was no money earned when she was away. While true, my mother liked being in her own space, doing her own thing, on her timetable. I
Oh September, I was not sad to see you go. You were a doozy! Silly me, anticipating a smooth return to routine. Instead, I found myself without childcare (True story: The Y after school program can fill up if you procrastinate too long.) There were multiple back to school nights and sports 6+ days per week.
Exercise. I am not a natural at it. I have never felt confident in my abilities. Short girl, large chest – not a winning combo.
It may not be the summer I imagined, but it sure seems to be just what they needed.
Last year, I wrote about 10 years of marriage and 10 years of decline. Recently, we hit another 10 year milestone: 10 years of being a mom. We talked about it as he was getting ready for bed. I explained that he was taking his sweet time coming out. Nine days past his due date,
For a long time, I had been eyeing this recipe. It spoke to me. Basically, it describes a method for making vegetable broth out of the parts of vegetables which you would ordinarily throw out. Stash all the discards in a bag in the freezer, and, once it is full, turn it into broth, like magic.
People will ask me if she knows who I am. The truth is, I don’t know. I do not ask, because, what is the point? I do not believe that she knows that I am her daughter. But regardless of who she thinks I am, she is always happy to see me. It fills me up, to know that just my presence can make her smile.
We want to be strong women, right? We want to raise children who stand up for themselves. No shrinking violets but bold, little hellcats. Sure, they challenge us at every turn, but beneath our frustration (sometimes way down deep), there is great pride in raising children who we know will take on the world someday.
It seems right to share a few things about me, warts and all.
Four years ago, I somehow stumbled on an annual event held at the Lutz Children’s Museum in Manchester, Connecticut. Apparently, the museum is the home of the “official Connecticut state groundhog” (who knew?) and every year, she or he makes a prediction about the end of the Winter season. The public is invited to attend the special occasion.