How do I raise a child to follow the rules when I am a born rebel?
I recently decided to take my kids up to see my Aunt Thelma. She's 83 now and has had three heart attacks in the last six months. She's always been my favorite relative, regal in stature, a wellspring of compassion, and just this side of sane.
I love the scent of vanilla citrus candles (soy only), the smell of the belly-button looking part of a ripe cantaloupe, 400 count Egyptian cotton sheets, and a good psychic -- one who can convince me that she senses my "energy" and tells me I've "done my work" and that she can "feel it" -- and cashmere socks, and a whole slew of other sensory stimulants that my husband either doesn't know about, doesn't care about, or mocks.
The other rainy December morning I loaded Gideon, my 16-month-old, in the car to take him to music class. When we got back home at 10:15 (AM) there was a puddle on the bedroom floor from a roof leak, the dishwasher was broken and my babysitter called in sick.
Forget about being as smart as a fifth grader, I just went to my son's holiday assembly at his elementary school, and with all the rainbow-striped tights and floppy hats I saw, I want to dress like one.
One mom shares the surprising reason why her husband has been MIA these days ... and why she's less than thrilled about it.
The other morning my toddler threw himself on the ground, tugging at his ears and rolling around the floor screaming and crying. So of course I assumed he had an ear infection. I took him to the doctor as soon as the office was open.