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I’ve been struggling with depression. I’m always struggling with depression, in some respects, but it feels harder, these days. My husband asks me if I’m sad, and I tell him no, because depression is different from sadness, but there’s an element of it there. I’m struggling with depression, in part, because I’ve been struggling with…

The Easter Bunny, Emilia informs me, is a fighter. “He can fight, Mommy. Because he’s big.” “Santa’s big, too.” “Santa doesn’t fight, though, because he doesn’t need to.” “Oh?” “He just has elves around him, and they’re happy and nice, and Santa doesn’t need to fight them.” I’m almost afraid to ask who or what…

(Emilia does not like princess dresses, but she’s game to play dress-up when asked nicely, and if she can the dress off immediately after the picture is taken. Next week we’ll be playing an epic game of dress-up as we drive to DisneyWorld for the Princess Half-Marathon, aka the Tiarathon. We’ll see how that goes.)

This is what you do when everyone in your household is horribly, vomitously, lung-hackingly ill but someone still needs to go to the corner to get toilet paper and you figure that even though you can barely stand you might as well be the one to do it because you seem to be able to…
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