I hope that the line will keep being drawn for us, and I hope the line will stay close for a long time. " And I said, "yes, you can, but don't say it at preschool, ok? You have been emailing me with preschool information, and asking me about a business plan for Play Cafe. Why must I always love, and lose?
It was more than a year ago, in the summer, and we were fueled by wine, pregnancy, and communal mama love.
And finally, it was our turn.
"Sophie," dark-eyed, tuft-haired, like a thousand Sophies before her. "Sophie," dark-eyed, tuft-haired, like a thousand Sophies before her. We sat, and waited, and changed diapers and shook off the haze of a late morning when none of us sleep. , we ate spaghetti made for us by his sister and watched the riveting and tear-jerking special on The Flight that Fought Back. They wanted me to care more about their spreadsheets than my baby's health. I wondered if it had been a bad idea to do announcements first. they're all about the writing. It's unfortunate that these usually have to be shared with his brother Truman - but lucky for me, I'll have so many more options to photograph those beautiful faces.
It was this essay, by Su-Jin Yim, in the Oregonian, about my "mama's book group.
"Emmett," built to withstand the indignity of tummy-time, round-faced. And I remembered, the ghost that haunts me most. I've had friends email me and ask if I'm ok - and long-lost classmates find me and wonder what I'm up to.
We got to the store, he did everything I asked, politely, sweetly. I've finally decided, this behavior isn't normal.
So I waited, and wondered, and worried just a bit. First there was the perfect tonal mimicry of my "oh, GAwD.
Off I go to be more productive.
"Truman," solid, voice lilting at the end, redolent of crooked giggles and calm steadfastness.
Instead I smiled crookedly through my own belly-extending breaths. I'm experimenting with my food photography, too, and I'll post many of the results here soon.
they're all about the writing.
I was almost on the radio, save for one producer who couldn't figure out how to contact me. If you'd rather just read my posts, you can find them here.
And I won't ever be able to come again.
About feminism and food and raising boys and real kitchens. But this sure is a fun way to get there. But I'm doing something else I'd always dreamed of doing - writing and editing parenting and food publications.
But it's not so easy, and if we don't speak the truth, nobody knows.
Evidently they sell it there.
But in both roles, I'm often more than frustrated.
Everett would eat sausage, or pancakes, and it was always worth it. And I'm creating considerable writing chops, while still using my business, marketing and management skills.