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Browsing Tag: love

This is Why Some People Make Fun of Religion

Quinlan walked into my office the day after Easter, pursing her lips like she does when she senses deep, deep injustice in her presence. “Mom,” she said. Her tone was accusatory. “The jelly beans that were in our Easter baskets were the same ones you had in the pantry.” She wouldn’t break eye contact with me. “Mom,” she repeated. “Why are the jelly beans the same?” The time had come. I gulped–actually made a gulp sound–and half-heartedly tried to cover my (er, the Easter Bunny’s) tracks: “Well, honey, jelly beans are the same all over the world. It’s not like there are a bunch of different versions of, you know…jelly beans. So it makes sense that I’d have the same ones that were in your Easter basket.” She looked at me, then sat down beside me in such a manner that I was pinned between her and the side of the couch. She didn’t say a word for a beat or two. Then: “I know about the bubbles.” “The what…

This is Not a Story You’ll Tell at Parties

I’ve realized recently that I don’t write about my mom very often, and when I do, it’s always sort of about her as a part of something else–my dad’s life, or my children’s. I’m not proud of this–mom is an integral part of my life, after all, and of our life as a family. Why don’t I discuss her? Why don’t I talk about her? I mean, we’ve gotten pretty tight, especially in these past ten years, and our relationship is–outside of a bumpy decade or so I’ll just call adolescence–for the most part, easy. So maybe that’s it: maybe the easy is why she hasn’t appeared on these pages so often. See, Mom is my constant. She’s as much a part of the framework of my life that to write about her sometimes feels like writing about what it’s like to breathe, or eat yogurt for breakfast, or put in a load of laundry for Clean Sheets Day. Mom is my constant: she…

It’s that “Bother” Word that Counts

I struggle a lot with the big picture–if you’ve been reading this blog for a while, you are nodding your head right now, because you know I’ve been struggling with it. Call it whatever you want: mindfulness, being proactive, taking action. Getting my head out of my you-know-what, even. But the big picture is so big sometimes I cower in front of the magnitude of it. Tell me I’m not the only one. These past weeks have–by forcing me into the big picture, whether I want to see it, or not–put a spotlight on this little failure of mine: the school massacre in Parkland, Florida. The beginning of Lent, with its focus on the Big Picture itself. The quiet waiting on news from my literary agent, which usually sends me into a paralyzed tailspin not unlike inertia. So many things that I fret about, think about, wonder about–have Great Ideas about–I don’t act upon as often or consistently as one would expect from a 41-year-old grown-up with a mortgage. It’s a lot of life slipping…