It was the beginning of a semester. I was almost in my second year of teaching at the university and I remember telling my colleague that I was “really doing well.” I was finally able to prepare sufficiently for my…
Browsing: Prose
This morning I woke to the music of the clock radio as I did several years ago – B.C. (Before Children). I lay in bed with gray dawn light filtering in the windows to my left and my husband buried…
Another morning, another diaper breach. Strip the baby, strip the sheets, toss the stuffed zebra, giraffe, and elephant into the laundry. And as an added bonus, get the big green stinky mess in her hair. Crap all over and all…
For a better part of our children’s lives we are defined by them, or maybe, become defined by them. Then there comes that pivotal moment when we have done our job, hopefully with much success, and they go out into…
My three year-old can wink. She has been able to do it for months now. Popeye gave her the idea, but her timing is all her own. I hear something shatter in the bathroom and round the corner in time…
One night, I was reminiscing, which I tend to do a lot of on nights I can’t get to sleep. My thoughts transported me back to when I was a little girl of around seven. I had been visiting my grandmother and…
In between fertility treatments, every time my husband Jose and I have half-decent sex when I know I must be ovulating, this stubborn little part of me still thinks we might have conceived naturally, that maybe the stars have aligned…
I did eight loads of laundry. I paid the bills. I cleaned the house. I filled out medical forms. My hair was pulled up in a haphazard top knot. My outfit consisted of waterproof track pants and a thermal shirt.…
I drive across the Henry Hudson Bridge and get off the parkway at Dyckman Street, an exit I have always associated with my mother but never taken before. It is mid-August, blue-skied and not too hot, and my mother is…
“Your Mom Has A Rockin’ Bod”. That’s what the handsome surfer looking dude told my eleven- and seven- year old daughters about me – their forty-eight year old mother. It was December 2004. Seven months after my husband said he…