At 7 on a Saturday night, eight-year-old Peter came home from the park with a lip the size of a ping-pong ball. He had been hit by a hardball on the fly. I wanted to take him to the ER. Jon said no, it was just a fat lip. Read more.
ON THE FUNNY SIDE
Need some levity? Read on!
Shopping for a Mother-of-the-Groom Dress — Is That Me in the Mirror? Or Somebody’s Grandmother?
My son is getting married. I’ll need a dress. A dress that makes me look terrific. It’s time to hit the department stores and bridal salons. Read more.
The (Two-Year-Old) Rhetorician at Our House
What’s rhetoric? I’ve always thought of it as the high-flown language of politics. But really, it’s something we humans do all the time, and that includes the two-year-old humans among us.
Real Snow in Minnesota . . . and Real Warm in My Real Austrian Walkjanker
My authentic Austrian Walkjanker jacket has hung forlornly at the far end of a plastic garment bag for decades. It had no place to go till my son got engaged to a Minnesota girl — and I had a chance to show it a good time on a snowy weekend in Minneapolis.
Grace Falconer Perlmutter Kleis — How to Be a Glamorous Gal at Age 98
My aunt was tall, red-headed, blue-eyed, self-sufficient and glamorous at a time and place when most women in her hometown wanted nothing more than to get married, have babies and put up green beans and blackberry jam. Read more.
My Upper Lip and Other Sorrows
I feel bad about my lip. My upper lip. Nora Ephron felt bad about her neck, a body part she made famous back in 2006 with her book I Feel Bad About My Neck. Nora also felt bad about her frizzy grey hair, parched skin, incipient mustache, flabby upper arms, and tendency toward belly fat. She was getting older.
Confessions of a Nintendo Mom: The Day I Unplugged My Eight-Year-Old
Like any normal person with a job, two kids and a front yard full of weeds, I had been sleeping in on a Sunday morning – until the sound of Jon and Peter playing the new Nintendo woke me up. I burst in on them. “HEY. YOU WOKE ME UP.” No answer. So enraptured were they with their dratted boomerangs and Oktoroks they didn’t care that they had wrecked my beautiful Sunday morning sleep-in. I stomped back to bed, covered my head and cried. Read more.