Drew has started implementing safety standards for his own obedience. If he is about to spill his milk, again, on purpose, and he knows it — he can feel the drumbeat of compulsion rushing through his veins — he hands me his glass and says, “Here, Mommy, I gonna spill dis.” Even if it has…   read more

I have been living a double life. For a week, I have left my children in the care of others in order to stab bobby pins through curls of hair, one after another, creating an auburn hat of monkey bread, and sucking the configuration up into a tight black wig cap. After this, a lady…   read more

(In case you missed it, this blog was originally posted at TreatADay.com on March 19.) As a mother of two small children, I am grateful not to be living in Prussia in the year 1777. That was when Frederic II banned coffee. Who was Frederic II and why did he ban that sweet, sweet nectar…   read more

(Chatter letter from the Editor, May 2012) When I was nursing my son, my compulsive multitasking kindled a desire for the only other thing I was able to do in a glider: read The Classics. Maybe it was my sudden brainlessness — oh, the irony — or the fact I didn’t have a paying job,…   read more

Today we passed a police car and Drew informed me he would “yike” to drive it one day. I explained he would have to become a police officer first, and he paused for a moment before replying, “Yes, I will be that.” Police Officer is about the 39th profession Drew has agreed to adopt in…   read more

I was dropping Drew off at preschool last Friday when his teacher, who was in the middle of unbuckling him from his car seat, asked, “Are you having another baby?” I misinterpreted her question as, “Are you pregnant?” to which I quickly said, “Oh no, no, no,” as if she was inquiring into a very…   read more

Last week Gordon and I were on the couch playing with Madeline when she started wiping my nose with a balled up Kleenex. She was precisely dabbing each nostril like she was British, or like I was British, or like we both were British. “She’s so motherly,” remarked Gordon. “She must have gotten that from…   read more

(Chatter Editor Letter, April) Unfortunately for my children, I practice my voice lessons in the car. Madeline and Drew are strapped in the back like a couple of big-eyed prisoners in our sports-utility Carnegie Hall. They don’t seem to appreciate that their box seats are mere inches from the coloratura soprano. If Drew is tired…   read more

One of the only unfortunate side effects to taking voice lessons over a period of time is that your yelling gets really loud. Have you ever been in a dream where you wanted to scream above the surface of the water or above the mountain you’re trapped on or above the head of your attacker,…   read more

From the swings at our neighborhood park, you can see the medieval-ish silhouette of Saint Stephen Presbyterian Church. When Gordon was a young Boy Scout, his troop met in a small house on the church property. Gordon remembers they all called it “Fort God,” and it’s easy to see why: It was dusk on Monday…   read more