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Browsing Tag: raising children

The Nutshell

Would you like to hear a three-year-old explain the entire philosophy behind discipline? Because a couple of weeks ago, Saoirse was misbehaving so badly she was told she wouldn’t be able to attend the beloved gymnastics class she and her sister have every week. As Quinn I shuttled out the door that night, I could hear Saoirse wailing from her bedroom–I mean, she was bellowing horrendous cries of despair, of betrayal, heart-wrenching sobs that bounced along the walls of our small house and did a splendid job of making me feel like the crappiest mother ever. I was second-guessing the decision all the way to the car. Once on the way, Quinn asked me if Saoirse was going to gymnastics. She answered herself before I could. “No, she’s not going to gymnastics, because she’s misbehaving.” I murmured my agreement, though my heart still hurt, because this forty-five minute class is the highlight of SK’s week (which also goes to show how rough the day had been if I’d gone to that as my last resort, but you knew that already). Quinn…

To be Brave

There’s this food blog I really like called A Full Measure of Happiness. Lauren Zietsman, its writer, is going to think I’m a crazy stalker lady for writing this (hi, Lauren!), but I love it.  Her recipes are fantastic and perfect for everyday cooking (her almond butters? Her Indian samosa casserole?  Hello.),  but even more than that, she’s got a voice that just carries through to her reader.  It’s bright and cheerful, and for that reason alone, I check her site often for updates. One day, to my dismay, a short while back, she mentioned that she was going to back away from posting as frequently.  Basically, she said that life was getting in the way of blogging (or blogging was getting in the way of life?), and she felt guilty for not spending enough time with her priorities–the human kind, I mean (I’m paraphrasing wildly, so if you read this, Lauren, forgive me…).  But as I read through her comments after that post (told you, stalker–Lauren, hi!), what struck me the most was a comment her mother made.  She said to her daughter, and…

This One’s Gross

In my early 20s (what? I surprised you? You thought I was still 22?! Aw, shucks, you’re sweet. Now, go get some glasses) I once went on a couple of dates with a guy who kept throwing me the biggest of mixed signals.  One day, he’d be all,  “Hey, let me call you and we’ll talk for aaaaggges about how awesome Weezer is!  Oh my gosh, we’re, like, soulmates, duuuude!”, and then I wouldn’t hear from him for days.  I was tortured, I tell you, tortured, for all of the four weeks we tossed this ping pong ball of of ill-advised courtship back and forth.  I couldn’t tell you anything more about the guy other than yes, he really was a big Weezer fan (what do you mean you don’t remember them? If you went to college in the 90s, you remember three things: Weezer, Rusted Root–which played at  my school during, I think, sophomore year, and I was too busy listening to Jane’s Addiction, probably, and writing mopey poetry to deign to see them–and Carrot Top…