this is a page for

Browsing Tag: mom

I Mean, They Have Wine There, Too

I’m supposed to be on my way to Albuquerque tomorrow, for my organization‘s writers’ retreat. Workshops, writing time, discussion groups. Friends who have brains like mine. Friends who are on social media right now talking with each other as they pack, excited to meet up with a blueberry margarita in hand before the (awesome, fun, hard, rewarding) work begins. But.I put off getting my plane tickets for a couple of reasons, and by the time I sat down to get them, the prices were so high I couldn’t bring myself to book the flights. (Note: never, ever pay off the last credit card and then make a solemn, empathic family vow to stop using them the same year you book a spot at a great writer’s retreat. Ain’t nobody got time for that kind of fiscal responsibility.) If you’d guess that I’m a little bummed about this, you’d be a good guesser. Or you saw me crying. Either or.  Now.I sit here at the kitchen table, surrounded by notes and index cards and lots and lots of words in my head…

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…

Suzie the Spontaneous

My mom got her ears pierced last week. She’d been talking for years about wanting to get a second set of holes, but was always too afraid of the needle to do it. I get it, of course–if aliens were to observe our planet and witness us voluntarily stabbing ourselves in the body, all because we think it looks cute, they’d probably pick another planet to invade, like, pronto. Humans are nuts. But as someone who has gotten stabbed multiple times in the ear herself, and in the belly, and really thinks that a sharp stick to the nostril could be kind of neat, too, I guess I’m on board with the rest of the wackos. So stab away, oh strange man in a mall kiosk. I want to be pretty.  Anyway, back to my mom. She’s 69. For my entire life, she has been someone who is a perfectionist, particular. She’s someone who likes to know where her life is going to go and to have her bed made every morning. When I was growing up, the house was cleaned top to bottom every week, and then…