Tag: growing up
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The school of home
Today, I am mad. I am mad because I woke up on the wrong side of the bed, and I refused to make an effort to roll over to the right side and try again. I am mad because the coffee beans spilled out of the coffee maker and into the dirty sink when…
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If time could talk
On tonight’s agenda: family dinner. My brother’s long-time girlfriend will pick up pizzas from Anthony’s, one large brushchetta and one large pepperoni. He texted in the group family chat, Does this work for everyone?, as if the guy at Anthony’s doesn’t know our name and our order and my womanly status by heart, every…
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Gimme that old-time religion
I desperately want to grow up to become the gray-haired great grandmother who bakes you a seven-layer chocolate cake with buttercream icing. Ignore the fact that I’ve never baked a cake that didn’t start with a little help from my friend Betty. And yet, I press on. She pressed her white pants the night…
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On battered & shattered expectations.
Honestly, I sometimes dream about making this blog less hygge. For those living under a rock, hygge is the Danish word for cozy and this funny obsession that many writers and shows have mocked as people have flocked to build a “hygge lifestyle” in an attempt to solve all of their world’s problems. The New Yorker piece called “Is…
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This is what happens when I talk about my family’s lake house.
Today, I sat in my car for a few extra minutes, listening to the roaring wind, brainstorming how I could make my groceries teleport from my trunk to my house while I stayed nestled inside my safe little car. Winter hurts. A sunny, warmer than usual day today, but a kind of windy that makes…
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Advice they forget to tell you before starting college.
For my two beautiful twin cousins headed off to college. Dear Beautiful Pre-College You, DO NOT SKIP THE SHOWER SHOES. I saw a girl just like you the other day, scanning her list as her mom pushed her overflowing cart down the back-to-school college essentials aisle at Target. “I still need a fan…and do you…
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What to Say to the Elderly Woman About “Home”
She looked at me, tears welling up to the brim, about to overflow, and she said, “I just want to go home, but I can’t get back there.” “Well, where is home?” I asked. “New England,” she said, her eyes gleaming with delight at just the name of this magical land. “I still call it…