I peered warily down at my thighs oozing across the chair like pancake batter across a hot griddle. Gross. I glanced surreptitiously at the other girls sitting close to me. Their thighs behaved. Why did mine take up so much space? I lifted them up off the chair just a tiny bit, making them smaller.... Continue Reading →
My first boyfriend's name was Jon Robinson. We were 8 years old. He was cute, best I remember. And pretty nice. Nice enough to inform me that no, you couldn't get pregnant just from kissing. Apparently, I'd snuck too many episodes of Days of Our Lives, where the timeline between lots of kissing and having... Continue Reading →
In the evolution of parenting, we've recently entered the tween zone. It's a strange land, filled with Caboodles, lip gloss, ill-applied blush, and an obsession with all things unicorn and glitter. It's a liminal stage. For us and our 9 (and a half) year old. There are things to be celebrated, for sure: a newfound... Continue Reading →
If I were to run smack into my sixth grade self right now, my first thought would be, "Oh, honey." And then I'd get straight to work helping me be slightly less of a dork. The problem was that I just had no clue. Other kids were a little like aliens to me. I didn't... Continue Reading →
I sat cross-legged on the floor, near enough to the other kids to look like part of the group. But, while they fidgeted and whispered, my attention remained rapt. Other kids felt mysterious to me; I never really got what they wanted me to say or do. Like maybe other kids had some sort of... Continue Reading →
What's a kid to do when her parents move her from one neighborhood to another--which means starting a new school?!? Watch as our intrepid second grade hero navigates these treacherous waters.
Percy’s mom was real cool—I mean, other than the fact that she’d given him the name Percy. That was a pretty big goof up. He was always getting into fights over it. But otherwise, she was a real nice mom. She didn’t even get mad when we came skidding into the house, all sweaty, and dropped our stuff by the front door. And she always had popsicles in the freezer. The red ones were my favorite. Which was great because Perc liked purple (yuck.) but hated red. So, there were always plenty of reds left when I came over.
Being a kid is INTENSE. As adults, we have this bizarre tendency to reminisce over the simplicity of childhood. After two days of full immersion in elementary school culture (and three more days to go), I remember now--being a kid is hard as hell. And adults don't always make it easier.
When I found out I was (finally) pregnant, I fundamentally misunderstood what was about to happen. I mean, I wanted a KID. What I got was, well, a baby. Turns out, babies aren’t really my thing.
She waits for her turn on the balance beam. My heart clenches. She’s only four years old; the beam stands as tall as her head, and she is afraid of heights. In fact, she asked to quit gymnastics because of this very beam.