I’m a full-time mom. You know the type. My days are spent cooking meals, doing dishes, buying groceries, doing laundry, walking dogs, wiping noses, clipping toenails, and performing every other pleasant and unpleasant task required to keep two kids, two dogs, two frogs and a hamster alive and relatively happy. But for my birthday weekend, I left all that behind for three days at Ladies Rock Camp. Keep reading »
When I was seven years old, my parents took me to see “Rocky.” Inappropriate? Maybe. But I was a skinny asthmatic kid in a house full of smokers and this “underdog triumphs over adversity” story spoke to me in a way that nothing else ever had. Whenever the going got tough and things seemed impossible, I invoked the Italian Stallion to get me through.
My first date was when I was a senior in high school. Late bloomer. Keep reading »
There are topics people won’t touch at cocktail parties because it’s not “polite conversation.” These are subjects people secretly want to discuss, but, when broached over hummus and Merlot, make them uncomfortable. These are precisely the things I love talking about. So here goes: My husband and I just graduated from couple’s therapy.
We started going about two years ago. We had just gotten back from a vacation with friends in the Bahamas with our then-3-year-old twins. There’s something about couples in trouble and the Caribbean, an unspoken belief that perhaps the turquoise water will bring clarity. That the sun and sand will somehow breathe new life into a choking, gasping union. I know several couples who returned from a Caribbean vacation and immediately divorced. Keep reading »
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