My husband calls me morbid, but I think of it more as just being prepared. I'm talking about the recent trip my father and I took to buy cemetery plots.
Yes I know, I've heard all the comments. "You're too young to be thinking like this." "You'll bring bad luck to your family." And my favorite... "Eeew!"
Read More...
Well, believe it or not there are several reasons I embarked on this adventure and believe me it was an adventure. In fact in a strange way, it was
kind of fun.
by Virginia Gilbert
Read More...
Here I am on my back with my feet in the stirrups, this time with a new twist. To keep several million elite female sperm from oozing out of me, the
nurse has slanted the examining table so the blood rushes to my head and the doctor has packed my vagina with a plastic-coated sponge. Now alone in
a small antiseptic room, I feel like a Thanksgiving turkey that has been stuffed, trussed and left to baste.
by Rachel Lipman Mostow
Read More...
At my baby shower, my experienced mom friend (she had a 6 month old) told me that when she had her baby, her mother-in-law came over to ooh and ahh,
and left her with one piece of advice: Try to treat him like he’s your second child. That’s the most sage advice I could have ever wished to hear before
I had my first baby, and the hardest to understand until I had my second.
by J.J. Jamieson
Read More...
My wife and I are often asked just how, in the name of all that is holy, we survived the first year of newborn triplets.
On the night they were born, I likewise asked myself how we would ever pull this off. The kids, two boys and a girl, were all in the nursery, while
I comforted my wife in her room, recovering from her C-section. And into her room three nurses wheeled three little cradles, with our three little
guys. We cuddled, fed, nuzzled, snuggled – then called the nurse to ask when they would be returning to the nursery. “Oh no,” she responded, “they’re
staying with you.”
by Jill Jacks-Tate
Read More...
This week I received the most precious gift of a necklace made from the finest multi-hued plastic beads and delicate elastic cord with the most adorable
little turtle pendant. It is rare and exquisite. It was made by my soon-to-be five year old son, Chase.
by J.J. Jamieson
Read More...
When the fertility doctor first told us we'd feel like celebrities, we laughed. Celebrities? Ordinary, boring, bourgeois us? Ha! We smirked at his
foolish obliviousness to reality. We thought maybe he was trying to cheer us up, 'celebrity' being a good thing in his mind, I guess.
by Suzy Wurtz
Read More...
'Tis the season. The season of, among other things, gingerbread houses. These architectural confections hold strong memories for my family.
by J.J. Jamieson
Read More...
One of my many personal failings includes my unfamiliarity with that room in the house with all the posts and pans, the one with that thingie that
heats up food, ya know, it's where the cereal is, what's it called again? I'm blanking...Oh yeah, the kitchen.
by Tracy Scott Miller
Read More...
Before you’re a parent, nobody tells you about the driving. Okay, there are lots of things about parenting nobody tells you beforehand; for example,
that many of the daily jobs of parenting are drudgery, plain and simple. But the driving definitely took me by surprise. Back in the days before I
had kids, driving meant freedom to me. A Californian born and bred, I took to the freeway as an escape. At age 16 it was driving the winding mountain
pass to Santa Cruz, at 25 driving Sunset Boulevard to the ocean. Even commuting had a meditative element, and at least I got to listen to NPR. But
as a parent, driving has become a chore. There’s driving to school and back, to soccer practice, doctors’ appointments, playdates, and field trips.
It’s boring, repetitive and time-consuming.
by J.J. Jamieson
Read More...
This is a true story. One particular morning, my wife lets me sleep an extra 20 minutes, God bless her, which means I don't have to get up
until 6:15 AM. Fantastic. So I'm blissfully slumbering away, until my 4 year old Thomas comes running into the bedroom, half-crying, half-whining,
yelling, "Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!!" His sister Mary runs five paces behind him, already blathering her defense, which means she's clearly the cause of
his despondency. With half-closed eyes, I croak for them to shush, one at a time please, and then I let the prosecution go first. Tommy? Your case?