I convinced my son to break his pacifier (and other therapy stories).

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I’m a horrible mother. I super duper mean it this time. Lemme ‘splain: Jasper needed to kick his pacifier habit. (No, that’s not the reason I’m a horrid parent- will you hang on a second, judgy?) He’s two and a half, already operates at a slight deficit in the whole speechly department, and I think we can all agree that a partially ripped, grubby pink pacifier doesn’t exactly scream “Christmas card photo,” right? It was time to kick the paci. {Read More}

Summertime haikus.

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Out of bread by noon Why do kids need to eat lunch It’s called “tapas,” guys. * Oh, working from home Togetherness redefined Please get off my ribs. * Sweet God, so much pee What are you aiming at, child? Potty training hurts. * * Let’s just lay out back. You smell like sunscreen, kiddo. That’s a great cloud shape. * That’s not an outfit Fine, it’ll do for today Jammies forever! * Is that what we do? You need {Read More}

Yanking out the teeth. (A love story.)

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I remember my Dad yanking out my teeth. That sounds horrible in the re-telling, doesn’t it? He didn’t whip out the pliers or anything but, after two hours of hearing me hem n’ haw about how loose my tooth was or how gross it was feeling, he’d nod in my direction and ask to have a look. By the time I’d opened my mouth to reply, he’d reached in, twisted the (impossibly tiny) sucker, and thwacked it into the palm {Read More}

The night Nora asked for a tattoo.

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I was proud of myself, even though the question caught me off-guard. “Mom, when can I have a tattoo?” My six year-old posed the request and, even though I didn’t really feel like outlining my hopes and dreams and fears for her in the middle of dinner prep, I knew I really didn’t have a choice. The hard parts of motherhood wait for no man’s spinach enchiladas.  So. I stepped up and mothered, dammit. I explained the concept of permanence, {Read More}

The end of Cocoon Days.

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When I first became a mother, I had a glorious maternity leave. I knew it was glorious, because I had the knowledge of what factors needed to be in play in order for it to be as glorious as humanly possible. They were as follows: a) A baby who chilled out when held, when in a swing or other baby-holding apparatus, or any combo therein. (<—Out of anyone’s control.) b) A freezer full of food. (<—Slightly more in your control.) {Read More}

Terribly terrible twos.

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Jasper got the memo. You know, the Terrible Two’s memo? I always thought that was a joke, an urban legend designed to encourage new parents to cuddle their babies tighter/inspire parents to think sending their kids off to school wouldn’t be all that bad. A handful? Sure! But really, what age isn’t a handful? Susannah hit the “terrible twos” at about 14 months, but hers was characterized by a marked desire to DOITMYSELF. (Which…is still going on, now that I {Read More}

Birthday boy.

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My dearest, darling-est, only Man Cub: Happy Birthday Eve, Jasper. You are so incredibly close to two years old. You are also- at once- a squishy little baby-cheeked toddler and a decidedly stubborn male of the impatient persuasion. You ricochet between neediness (“Mama, Mama come, help you? UP. Mama“) and hittin’ the road, Jack. Fun fact: Did you know that Jack Daniels’ first name is actually Jasper? You’re clearly destined for greatness, distillery or otherwise. You are also destined for {Read More}

Step off, grossness. (Please.)

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germsgergermsI give. I’m waving the white flag. I’m throwing antiques out of burning buildings. I’m praying to tiny vials of penicillin. “Wait ’til you see the germs they pick up in kindergarten,” they said. “I know germs,” I told them loftily. I’ve nannied. Had children. Sent them to preschool. Watched them put that door handle in their mouths- stop putting that door in your mouths, you guys. But “they” were right. Colds, viruses, flus, streps (yes, multiple streps) rage through {Read More}