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Category: Transitions

They All Said, Don’t Blink: A Farm Market Causes an Existential Parenting Crisis

Our girls don’t have soccer games scheduled for the upcoming weekend, so most of their practices this week were cancelled (wait, do you hear the choir of angels singing the Hallelujah Chorus, too??). We’ve been running nonstop this fall with soccer and school and family activities (I’m preaching to that choir, surely), and I was SO EXCITED to have a week with my kids home in the afternoon. HAHAHAHAHA. Nine years of parenting and I’m still delusionally hopeful. The reality is they’ve been fighting (with each other) and bickering (with me) and hollering (name your person) nonstop in almost every single supposed-to-be-peaceful moment we’ve had. Because real life is so not like the pretty, pretty pictures in my head. Monday afternoon, Cian and I picked the girls up from school, and I surprised them with a little trip to a local farm market. We haven’t been able to make a lot of the fall-festival rounds, which is one of my most favorite times of the year, so this was our first excursion. You know the drill: crunchy leaves. Fresh apples. Corn pits…

Embrace the Cinnamon, I Say

I’ve been a parent for eight years now. I’ve been a parent of three for almost four. Do you know what this means, don’t you? Forget wisdom, and potty training expertise (HA). Forget lessons in sleep training and breastfeeding survival stories (you’ll never eat cabbage again, let me tell you). I’ve now journeyed through eight years of parenthood, and the only thing I have to show for it is that I now know every pumpkin patch, apple orchard and farm market within a 10-mile radius of my house inside and out.If you live in the suburbs, and you have young children, you know exactly what I mean. Every fall weekend. Every preschool field trip. If it’s September or October, you have been in the trenches, staring out over the top at the rows and rows of apple trees ready to threaten your patience and checkbook, right along with all of your sisters and brothers in parenthood, armed only with the regulation ammunition of an iPhone, tall boots and a single coffee cup. You have carted home more dirty gourds and grimy baby-sized pumpkins than you…

Because Seasons Change

David and Cian and I just dropped the girls off for their first day of the new school year. First and second grade. Tiny plaid uniforms. Backpacks that still look a bit too big for their little bodies. Saoirse told me last night that she wasn’t ready for the year to start–this summer had been too nice. Too much fun. “Relaxing,” she said. You know already that I felt the same way. I wasn’t the Author this summer, or really even the Author Mom. I really didn’t have a choice to be anything other than Regular Mom once vacation started, and while I’m not so sure I want to know what that means for a burgeoning writing career, these past weeks were some of the best that I can remember. Maybe it’s because I didn’t have a choice: I had to be in the mix with these three kiddos whether I wanted to be working or not, so I just gave myself over to it. It was the first time since I started writing toward publication that I didn’t feel utterly guilty…