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Category: Parenthood

Presidents’ Day, 2018

Since the beginning of the year, each Monday I’ve posted a recipe of a meal from our family table. Not today, though. I’ve been trying to continue on with life as usual since Wednesday. Have been trying to carry on while batting the thoughts and fears and tears to the side like they’re nothing but angry flies. The flies are too close, though. The flies are a plague. Today two things weigh on my mind, and they’re what have stopped me in my tracks: a) new knowledge of what, exactly, bullets from an AR-15 do to a human body and b) this poem, shared by writer Kathleen Donohoe, which was written in May 1974 after a firefighter pulled a dead child from the rubble of bombings in Dublin. Each, unfortunately, is not independent of the other. Read the poem a couple of times. Focus especially on the last stanza. Maybe next Monday some of us will be continue to pretend that life goes on as comfortably as always, and maybe I’ll be lucky enough to post another recipe that my kids may or may not like and that you…

The First is Ten

My biggest girl turned 10 this weekend. Let me have a moment to let that sink in. I could go on about how talented Saoirse is. The music. The writing. But you don’t want to hear it. And I can’t tell you about it without the seams of my skin bursting with all of sorts of brag-y pride. I could tell you how strong she is, how much she’s grown, how steadily she’s become confident in her own body: the way she moves down a basketball court, how she runs across the school parking lot toward me at the end of the day. But you don’t care about that. You have your own kids and nieces and nephews to admire. I could tell you how much she seems like me though she looks like her dad. How he saw her during class a couple of weeks ago–the children were doing a writing exercise–and was taken aback by how the class business swirled around her, but she kept her head down, did the work, didn’t get distracted by questions and chatter and conversation. It…

Didn’t See That One Coming

Saoirse walked up to me in the laundry room yesterday and asked me for a hug. “You’re the best mom in the world,” she said. “I don’t tell you that often enough.” I stood still for a moment, speechless. I think I was trying to memorize the last sentence of what she said: I don’t tell you often enough. But what I was really thinking was, Oh, my little girl. You’ve already told me more than I could ever hope for. &nbsp…