My Articles:
Volunteer for Brainless Tasks and Find Nirvana
I never feel more stupid than when I volunteer in my daughter’s kindergarten class.
Her teacher snaps out instructions. My job, I think, is to help the kids draw three pictures that describe their weekend and then write a one-sentence summation.
I’m supposed to help my daughter, Mimi, her friend, Anni, a boy, David, and a girl, Samantha.
“This way!” I say. Mimi goes the other way, as does giggling Anni, while David heads straight to his seat, as does Samantha.
You Never Know What Will Come Next
Oy Vey! Matzoh in the White House
There is a Jewish holiday called Purim that was celebrated just last month. It’s the story of a Jewish Queen, Esther, who with the help of her beloved uncle Mordechai saved the Jews from being slaughtered at the hands of the evil Haman who had a position of power in the government of King Ahashverus, Esther’s new husband. Esther was ordered to marry him after his first wife Vashti refused to dance naked for his friends. Traditional interpretations say that he beheaded her, but the more modern story is that she left him to go to med school. The story ends by Esther throwing a party for her husband and after making sure he’s had a few drinks tells him of Haman’s awful plans. The King is quite smitten with his beautiful Jewish wife and the story ends well for the Jews. Haman is killed and Mordechai is given a role in the government!
A Mother’s Friendship Will Last Forever
Not a Jock as a Kid But is One as a Dad
My husband sits in the row ahead of me, with the other Dads, at Little League night at the ballpark. He’s one of the guys, his Oakland A’s hat moving up and down as he roots for the home team.
Michael never played sports as a kid.
Felt like an outsider, like he didn’t know how to fit in with the sporty guys. He hung out with the juvenile delinquents, but didn’t really fit in with them, either. He’d call both groups boneheads and wonder if he’d ever find his own tribe.
The Teased Gene Passed Painfully Down
My daughter came home from school today and used a word that made my blood run cold. No it wasn’t THAT word.
Obsession
I have met Robert red motorcycle guy, no gloves, silver helmet; I have met motorcycle guy at the Chevron; purple motorcyle French father at the art store; and guy in the parking lot who told us about motorcycles racing up hills.
I have never ridden a motorcycle. Nor do I want to.
My 2 ½-year old son can hear a motorcycle from the other side of the freeway and he has a keen sense for when an empty motorcycle will have “a guy on it and put helmet on, then do one kick.”
Why Mothers Should Take Xanax Before Their Next Play Dates
Play dates make me nervous. I’m thinking about asking my doctor for anti-anxiety meds before I go on the next one.
It wasn’t always this way.
My daughter has been having play dates for awhile but before kindergarten they were limited to a close group of preschool friends. These were friends whose houses could be counted on to be messy and not very stylish. Now that I’ve made it to kindergarten, my daughter’s play dates have expanded to people I know very little and who have a sense of style.
The Absolutely Inconceivable, Unimaginable. . .
You would never believe what happened today.
The Guilt of Having an Only Child
My daughter and I are in the art room at the Discovery Museum. We share the clay table with the mother of a newborn and his three-year-old sister. Another mom, pregnant with her second child, sits across from us with her toddler son.
“Do you like being a big sister?” the expecting mom asks the little girl brightly, anticipating the day her boy will play the role of big brother. “Do you help mommy give her a bottle?”
She smiles shyly and gives a proud nod.
Follow us on
