This is blogging
Choosing an Elementary School in a Country That...
I can’t give him the 90s.I can give him advocacy.I can give him honesty without fear-mongering.I can give him a parent who asks hard questions and doesn’t accept “this is...
Choosing an Elementary School in a Country That...
I can’t give him the 90s.I can give him advocacy.I can give him honesty without fear-mongering.I can give him a parent who asks hard questions and doesn’t accept “this is...
Finding My Pink Again
Alcohol gave me permission to be loud, confident, unbothered. It felt like pink without the risk. A confidence borrowed, joy on loan. I mistook numbness for freedom and chaos for...
Finding My Pink Again
Alcohol gave me permission to be loud, confident, unbothered. It felt like pink without the risk. A confidence borrowed, joy on loan. I mistook numbness for freedom and chaos for...
Raising a Five-Year-Old in the Middle of Americ...
America right now feels like a room where everyone is talking at once, no one is listening, and the TV is too loud. It’s a place where every scroll brings...
Raising a Five-Year-Old in the Middle of Americ...
America right now feels like a room where everyone is talking at once, no one is listening, and the TV is too loud. It’s a place where every scroll brings...
Learning to Set Boundaries (Even When My Brain ...
Sometimes you get it right.Sometimes you realize you didn’t.Sometimes you sit on a pretty couch in a pretty house and think,Shit. I did it again.
Learning to Set Boundaries (Even When My Brain ...
Sometimes you get it right.Sometimes you realize you didn’t.Sometimes you sit on a pretty couch in a pretty house and think,Shit. I did it again.
Boy Mom Blues (and Hopes and Screams and Love)
To every other boy mom out there who’s covered in bruises and stickers and probably some kind of yogurt: I see you. We’re not perfect. But we’re raising boys who...
Boy Mom Blues (and Hopes and Screams and Love)
To every other boy mom out there who’s covered in bruises and stickers and probably some kind of yogurt: I see you. We’re not perfect. But we’re raising boys who...
Mourning My Mother
My mother is dead, and yet the mail still arrives, the dishes still pile up, my son still asks what’s for dinner. Grief doesn’t pause life. It braids itself into...
Mourning My Mother
My mother is dead, and yet the mail still arrives, the dishes still pile up, my son still asks what’s for dinner. Grief doesn’t pause life. It braids itself into...