This beautiful, little human is trying to kill me. I mean, not with anything as overt as knives and such. But with eye rolls and sighs, ingratitude and accusations. And if you tell me it will only get worse as she gets older, I will jump through this screen and kick your ass.
This is my life, RIGHT NOW. Because, good or bad... it's fleeting. I'll just stay where my feet are & take it as it comes.
Outside our small, yellow house in Atlanta, a huge Pride flag waves in the breeze. I love that flag. It tells a part of our family's story that is no longer easily visible. The near unraveling of our marriage in 2016 broke something in me. I thought I'd try to piece it together, to come... Continue Reading →
Mothering is sacred work. I pour every ounce of goodness & light I have into this child. But what about the broken parts of me that need mothering, too?
A gritty, honest exploration of change, loss, and joy as it's unfolded in my life.
At 7 years old, my daughter, has already attended seven civil rights marches (if you count the five Pride parades she’s attended—and I do. Oh, I do.). I don’t come from a long line of activists. In fact, my parents always seem (not so secretly) appalled that I let Jane march through the streets holding signs, chanting, and generally being a rabble-rouser. But here’s the thing: Jane was born into activism.
We’ve entered the season of snark with Jane. And, dear God, it is wearing me down.
I haven't talked to Jane about the shooting at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School. How do you tell a 7 year old, who loves school above all else, that 17 people went in to school one morning and never came back out? How will she ever feel safe again, once she knows the truth? I... Continue Reading →
My sweet baby Jane came into the world 7 years (and 4 days) ago. I had some pretty naive ideas about motherhood then. I thought she'd never wear pink. (By day 4 she had on her first pink outfit. She hasn't turned back since.) I strongly opposed princesses and damsels-being-rescued in any format. (Jane's 4th... Continue Reading →
There's a rug that's really getting my goat right now. No matter how many times I wash the damn thing, someone steps on it immediately, making it a dingy, repulsive shade of gray. I know, I know... rugs exist to be stepped on. They live on the ground, after all. But, still, I go round... Continue Reading →
