Moms writing their way through an ever-shrinking pool of time and attention. We write for our sanity, and yours. Welcome.
Featured
But this isn’t a story about things lost. Youth. Running. Identity. Or, at least, it’s not only a story about that. It’s about the inevitable morphing one does in big and small ways. It’s about what that morphing takes, no matter how old we get
Maybe—and this unfortunately means accepting that past me was a snobby bitch—maybe being a Dance Mom has changed me. For good.
I made a discovery on one of those relentless January days: two of my houseplants had flowered.
I spent an hour that afternoon carefully mending our 8-year-old neighbor’s lovies, four identical rabbits that were loved so hard their heads fell off.