We have new neighbors next door. They're a nice young couple. It's their first house, so they haven't had time to collect the finer accoutrements of suburban living, like pruning sheers or a shovel. With fall coming on soon, they also haven't put much effort into sprucing up the neglected landscaping. I don't mind. My bushes need a trim too, and that's no euphemism. There was one weed in particular growing in their side yard, right up against the house, that seemed very nasty. Actually, it looked like at any moment it would take the house hostage and begin making unreasonable demands. I should have taken a picture, but frankly I'm not sure it would show up in pictures. Like a vampire.

Recently I read something online that resonated with me. Since I didn’t share it in my facebook feed, or pin it to pinterest, or email it to myself – my three primary modes of organization these days – I can’t find it again*. So I’m going to paraphrase it for you, badly, no doubt: Two moms are sitting near each other at a park or a playground or some place where kids gather, and so too do moms. They’re both watching the kids play. Mother 1 has a sleeping infant, and she says to Mother 2, “They’re so loud, aren’t they? Even when they’re sleeping.” See, Mother 1 was new to this whole motherhood thing – at least the way I pictured it in my head, anyway. And she was discovering what I have discovered. Motherhood is very loud .

There are people whose deaths you can see coming. The elderly, of course. Celebrities who party too hard, dabble in the more-than-occasional use of drugs, or are infatuated with fast cars. Adrenaline junkies who are drawn to extreme sports. That idiot down the street who always runs that stop sign. You look at these people and think, well, it was just a matter of time. You are sad for them, for their families, for the future that will never be, and then you move on. Robin Williams was not one of those people, at least not for me. I was aware of his cocaine-fueled ‘80s and his struggle with alcoholism. His battles with depression, however, weren’t as publicized. So news of his death was heartbreaking and hit especially close to home, since I have grappled with depression myself since I was about 12. (“You? You seem well-balanced.” “That’s because I’m heavily medicated.”) I think many fans had no idea he fought so fiercely with deep and all-consuming depression – how could someone ...

My father is one of the reasons I chose to have a child. Not to honor him or continue my lineage, but to fix the parts that he broke.  Too many of my memories are of a childhood and family irreparably damaged, achingly sad, or completely dysfunctional. I wanted to replace these memories with positive ones of my own creation, and to experience through my child’s eyes the childhood I didn’t have. Sure, it’s terribly selfish and probably more than a little misguided. But people have had children for far worse and far fewer reasons.  For example, take the playground. My father rarely played with us in the yard. There was no kicking soccer balls, throwing baseballs, no balls of any kind really. We grew up food-stamps-poor, so there were rarely any trips to local museums or science centers or cultural events. But we did have Sunday Family Day sometimes when I was little, where the four of us would pile in my father’s shit brown Ford mini pick-up truck and go somewhere l...

Many years ago I read or heard the line, “We were like strangers who knew each other very well.” I have more or less adopted this quote as a description of the relationship between my father and me. More than strangers but less than estranged, we talk on the phone a few times a year but we stick to surface streets. He thinks I am closed off and private; I know where his post office box is located but don’t know where he sleeps at night. He lives 1,200 miles away, so at least I am spared the awkward side-hugs and desperate attempts at normal conversation. My mother is dead and my brother has ceased contact, so he clings to me like his last hope at family.  That about sums it up. Father’s Days are tough. There just aren’t any greeting cards that accurately reflect our relationship. So a few years ago I decided Hallmark or American Greetings needed to get on this. Along with a friend, I came up with several gems I was going to pitch to them. The best one was: (front) When...

I have a great husband who knows my limits, and one of those limits is how much time I can spend around other people – including my precious child – before I start to slowly go mad. An introvert at heart, I require a decent amount of down time alone each day so I can recover from the hours I spend being pulled at, whined to, and drooled on. My need for breaks is naturally at odds with my husband’s need to, you know, go to work and earn money so he can support our family. He works an odd schedule, so I am fortunate that he has more time than most husbands to entertain and bond with the kiddo, which allows me some time off. Unfortunately, he travels sometimes – leaving me alone with a toddler for days at a time. Like I said, he knows my limits, and he almost always arranges with his parents for the kiddo to spend the night at least once while my husband is gone. This way he doesn’t come home to an irritable wife who’s likely to sigh loudly and slam doors and yell at the dogs. Or...

One of the dogs peed in the dining room. I don’t know which one, and neither is talking. It left a sprinkle of yellow spots that I got out with Resolve Pet Stain carpet cleaner. As a result, though, the carpet is lighter where it’s been cleaned. Which means either the carpet cleaner is killer, or I’m a crappy housekeeper. One of those.  Then I chased down the kiddo, who is suffering from spring allergies, to give him some Benadryl. Which he spit out on the dining room carpet, leaving a pink blob somewhat near the now-light-tan spots. I reached for the closest napkin to wipe up the pink, which happened to be one of the variety which has a decorative border of blue and green squares on it. One of these squares, naturally, transferred to the carpet as a green spot.  My dining room is a multi-colored rainbow. It’s pink and tan and blue and yellow. You know, for spring.