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Their Bad Mother

Two weeks ago, a week or so before my father died, I read a post, as part of the Community Keynote at BlogHer. My father figured in the story that I told in that post. It was a post that was mostly about my mother, but my father figured centrally, and his role in that…

My father died last week. My Dad, who I loved so very much, who I will always love so very, very much. We still don’t know when or how, exactly – he was alone, and the circumstances of his death are, for the moment, more or less unknown – and that leaves us in a…

August, 2006. That was what my little feminist looked like before she grew hair and an attitude. No, wait. She always had the attitude. Hair just seems to have intensified it.

Emilia isn’t one for dolls, really. She much prefers taking them apart and incorporating them into art installations than she does cuddling them and pretending that they’re real. Because they’re not real, as she likes to remind me whenever I suggest that perhaps Shoggy or Zoe or Dora might like to get to bed at…

It was my husband’s birthday this weekend. We celebrated by making Emilia’s favorite meal, spaghetti, and having Emilia’s favorite cake, cake. Because that’s how birthdays go when you’re parents to small children to whom birthdays mean only CAKE, and also, CAKE. Whose birthday it is, which birthday it is, whether the birthday celebrant would maybe…

Oh, hey. Ever wondered what I sound like? No? Didn’t think so. But on the off-chance that you have been dying to know whether I have a high, chirpy Meg Ryan voice, or a low throaty Kathleen Turner voice or whether I, like, totally, say ABOOT and yammer on about hockey and bacon, well, I…

I’ve written about prayer a few times here. I’ve been pretty clear that I’m ambivalent about the idea the idea of intercessory prayer – that is, of praying to God to intervene in the life of others, to save a life, to cure an illness, to find a lost loved one, to solve war and…

I threw a party at BlogHer, and there was a unicorn. That is all.

So I’m somewhere in Michigan City, just outside of Chicago, and I have to say: although I wept more than few times yesterday, and although the coffee in this Super 8 motel is reason enough to weep further, I’m kind of enjoying myself. Which, of course, I expected. Just not this soon. I had fully…

Me at my first BlogHer conference, in 2006. Yes, those are pasties. And a fake tattoo. Both of which make one look way more confident than one feels. (Which, yes: I am far less confident, far less outgoing, than I look. Please to remember this if you meet me this weekend…)
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