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Dear Stay-At-Home Mom: I Figured Out Your Problem
My face told him my approximate age. The awkward wedding reception silence told him to ask. I knew what was coming; the same thing that always came after the “nice to meet you” part. “Do you work?” It’s not a question I get down here in Baja; the majority of women stay home and take care of the kids, cook, etc. But when I lived in the States—a perfectly normal question. I wanted to launch. I wanted to redefine his inquiry, spell it out, wrap it up and hand it back. You mean like for money? No, last time I checked there’s no salary for washing, changing, feeding,…
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Excuses I’ve Told Visitors for $300, Alex
I’ve racked my brain, but can’t recall a time I have ever walked into a guy’s house and listened to him trip over his tongue in an effort to tell me all the reasons why his dwelling looks messy, dirty, or both. The home of a woman though? Different story. Every time I’m in a friend’s house and she starts going on about why there are messes, I want to grab her shoulders and say, “Relax. It’s okay that your nail clippers landed on the coffee table, beach towels are in the kitchen and dozens of unread magazines rest by your bed. You live here.” And then someone comes to…
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Living in the High School Library
New. School. Can any two other words evoke such equal feelings of curiosity and trepidation in a tween or teen? Pretty sure I’ve never seen anyone more than three feet tall jump for joy over the thoughts of being pulled from their normal and dropped in the midst of new schedules, peers and teachers. But when we returned home from vacation on a recent Sunday evening, our oldest son didn’t have time to think about it. Faster than fast he unpacked his suitcase, ironed his new uniform, and went from English-speaking camper to Spanish-speaking student. Putting on the welcome green with a few new acquaintances. A mere 45 hours separated…
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Easter Fail
I knew he was familiar with the Easter story, but I had never heard our seven-year-old try to re-tell it on his own. We only read the full account of Jesus’ death and resurrection once a year; I expected him to get a couple details wrong. Pride welled when he began. Then perfectionism kicked in and disappointment welled when he continued. Not disappointment in my boy—in me and my parenting skills. We use a visual aid called Resurrection Eggs and the carton contains a dozen plastic eggs, each one containing an object to help convey the meaning of Easter. For example, in the orange egg you’ll find praying hands, and the…
