IT’S ALL ABOUT the music, folks. At least that’s what my charming children would like me to believe. [click to continue…]
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From the category archives:
My Kids: the Rock & the River
I LOVE TO KNIT. I love my daughter. Shouldn’t the two go together? [click to continue…]
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APPARENTLY, MY SON THE RIVER’S skepticism does not extend to mythical creatures who claim lost teeth. Or who provide cash. [click to continue…]
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MY SON’S DAYS of believing in the unbelievable are growing shorter; I’m pretty sure this is the last year when he’ll accept Santa Claus on faith, though he’s a good sport, and he’ll probably play along for the sake of his sister. But I’m feeling pretty wistful about the end of his belief in magic, so when I discovered two giant pumpkins growing on a vine snaking out of a compost heap I keep ignoring down behind our barn, I decided to try to give him one last gasp of wonder. [click to continue…]
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IT IS NOT NEWS to anyone (except maybe a checked-out dad or two) that we moms have a lot of balls: the ones we’re juggling, the ones we’re dodging, the ones flying directly at our heads. (And then there are the big brass ones we bring out when someone raises our maternal hackles, but that’s a story for another post.) When you have that many balls, it’s inevitable that some will drop, and you just pray (or I do anyway) that the ones that go bouncing away will be the ones that matter the least. [click to continue…]
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THIS WEEK, SADLY, the only thing I’m away from is my computer: instead of concocting cocktails or laughing my way through my treasured collection of vintage Ladies’ Auxiliary cookbooks, I’m labeling clothing, disinfecting lunchboxes and wondering how the hell I’m going to get four people dressed and out the door by 7:30 Wednesday morning, when, yes, the school year officially begins for the Rock and the River and by extension, the Husband and me. [click to continue…]
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"Mom! These are DEFINITELY POTATOES."
ARE WE ADDLED YET? Has the heat cooked your brain, softened your resolve, wilted your garden? Why yes, I say, to all three, which is perhaps why, when the Rock and I were washing our slender haul of assorted love apples from the garden yesterday, I didn’t bother to correct her when she insisted the tomatoes were potatoes and ate more carrots than she washed. It’s too hot to argue. It’s too hot to do much of anything, which is why I say: Make soup. (Does this seem proof positive that I’m not thinking clearly? No, no, I promise, this is good advice–read on.) [click to continue…]
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KIDS FIGHT, RIGHT? This is not news. Not to those of you who grew up with siblings, anyway. As an only child, I think I believed that incessant sibling squabbling was like one of those subjects exaggerated by the media, say, anyone’s interest in the Brangelina brood: something real, to be sure, but perhaps not quite as culturally pervasive as the folks at Us magazine would like us all to believe. [click to continue…]
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REMEMBER MY SUMMER GOALS? Now that summer is more than one-third past (read that bit again, why don’t you, as you weep into your iced coffee) and I’m about to embark on our few short days of family vacation, I thought I should check in with, um, myself, and err, you all, and ‘fess up to what I’ve done, or not, on that list of mine. [click to continue…]
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WHEN THE RIVER was a tiny guy, strangers used to stop us to exclaim about his resemblance to legendary child star and friend-of-Michael-Jackson Macaulay Culkin. If that’s not enough to send a stage-leery mama scurrying from Los Angeles to the hills of rural New York, I don’t know what is. There were other reasons for, and consequences from, our crazy escape from Hollywood to the farm, and this month, they’re chronicled in a story I wrote for Country Living. As a result, I seem to have opened a Pandora’s box of ambition and desire for my photogenic, performance-oriented offspring. [click to continue…]
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