A funny thing happened last weekend. I turned on my computer to check email, and there were a dozen letters from Australia, each bearing kind Happy Mother’s Day wishes from down under. There were even more messages for me on Facebook. I was puzzled at first, but then the fifth note I read explained what was going on: “Your Gift of an Ordinary Day video is going viral in Australia,” a mom of two wrote to me. Sure enough. I paid a visit to the YouTube link: 200,000 more clicks in just a couple of days — and suddenly my…
A few years ago, I packed all my child-raising books into shopping bags and delivered them to the used bookstore. It didn’t mean my mothering days were over, of course, but I figured that from here on out I should be able to manage on my own. My sons were young adults, after all, our struggles over bedtimes and screen time and green vegetables and messy rooms were already ancient history. We were forging new relationships with each other – complicated, yes, but I couldn’t imagine ever again turning to an “expert” for advice on how to get along with…
I long ago lost count of how many times I’ve made this cake. The recipe, clipped from the Boston Globe in the pre-internet age, is pasted with rubber cement into a notebook of recipes I began keeping the year before I got married in 1987. The pages are all loose now, held together with a rubber band. But I know exactly where the yellowed, glaze-spattered cake recipe is, should I ever need a quick refresher. In fact, as I realized while creaming the butter and sugar yesterday morning, I don’t really refer to the recipe anymore. I know it by…
I suspect I’m not the only one feeling a little wary and vulnerable in my skin these days. A week after the Boston bombings, as people across the nation paused yesterday afternoon to observe a moment of silence at 2:50, I stood alone in my own quiet kitchen, sad and somewhat at a loss for what to do next. There is so much in my life to be grateful for. No one I know was injured last week. All my loved ones are fine. Nothing visible in my world has changed. And yet, I find myself blinking back tears at…
I try, pretty much every morning, to be present for the dawn, even if it’s only to stand outdoors shivering in my flip flops and pajamas, gazing eastward. Often I snap a photo as the sun makes its entrance, amazed always at the silent miracle: the gift of another day. Although I tend to wake up with all sorts of emotions already swirling through my consciousness, indifference is never one of them. Instead – and I don’t think I’m alone in this – I’m often as not overcome with a wild brew of feelings as I stand on my small…
