It was a typical evening. I made sure my children were all showered or bathed, and they lined up to each have their hair brushed, their ears cleaned, and their nails clipped. My husband, bless him, is a great dad. But he has not cut one single nail during his entire life as a parent. So when one of the little clippings went flying and hit me in the forehead, got stuck in my hair, and I just pulled it (...Read More)

In about four weeks, I’m going to visit my sister in Southeast Asia for 16 days. We’re going to explore the 12th-century Angkor Wat temple complex in Cambodia; traipse about Penang, the Malaysian island setting for Gift of Rain; and visit Chiang Mai, which Wikipedia touts as “the most culturally significant city in northern Thailand.” This region of the world is so exotic to me that picturing myself there is like imagining one million dollars in hand. Yet I’m going, (...Read More)

Mommy time.  I’m not talking about that few precious moments of silence that happen during naptime, or when the kids are tucked into bed at night.  Instead, I’m referring to the fact that, since having children, I am late for everything.  I like to call this phenomenon “Mommy Time.” This drives me insane.  I like to be on time.  I don’t like to keep people waiting.  And, as I tell Princess nearly every school day, “School starts when it starts, (...Read More)

I choose to believe that my kids are smart, despite my own observations. I mean, outside sources—like report cards and standards based exams—suggest that there are brains lurking in the small (seemingly vacant) heads bobbing around my home. I take comfort in these external proofs of intelligent life. That’s why, when I find empty water bottles in the fridge, I don’t balk. When I open my dishwasher and find newly inserted dirty dishes mixed in with the clean ones, I (...Read More)