This week, my youngest child turned thirteen, making me the mother of three teenagers. For those readers who have raised (i.e., survived) teenagers, I could end my column here. There’s no need for lengthy anecdotes. Upon reading my first sentence, other parents of teens most likely heaved a collective groan, and instantly understood the prickly…
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Over the river, and off the Beltway
“Grams, could we make brownies?” my daughter asks, already knowing the answer. “Is the Pope a Catholic?” replies my husband’s mother, smiling up at Anna, who has at least a half a foot on her now. Short but feisty. Born of Irish heritage. Humbly brought up in Ho-Ho-Kus, New Jersey. Married fifty-three years to a…
My sailor won’t batten down the hatches!
Ahoy, fellow Milspouses! Are you tethered to a soldier who doesn’t know how to hang a ceiling fan? Does your airman plead ignorance when it’s time to program the remote? Are you anchored to a sailor who can’t assemble the baby’s crib? Does your marine call the plumber when the faucet leaks? If you answered,…
Father’s Day: Keeping it simple
My 40-something brain regularly forgets that my sunglasses are perched on my head, can’t remember where I parked the minivan, and compels me to walk around my house mumbling to myself, “Now, why did I come in here again?” However, for some unknown reason, I have an incredibly detailed memory of my childhood. I don’t…
