The dog and I took a walk this morning to our local Copenhagen bakery to pick up a couple loaves of their rye bread. It’s not a pretty walk. It’s a Los Angeles city street. Lots of concrete. Not a lot of trees. This bakery makes me happy, though, with its clean white facade and… Continue reading I’m a Special Helper
Tag: parenting
The Humor of Overactive Parents in Books for Kids
I don’t know about you, but every time I hear the term “helicopter parenting” I want to duck for cover. It’s not that I’m so opposed to the concept as much as I’m afraid something is about to swoop down and take off my head. Usually, I’m not so far off—“Ten Warning Signs You Are… Continue reading The Humor of Overactive Parents in Books for Kids
The Happiest Mother on the Block
Last week, my foot got one of those awful cramps they say can come from not enough water (guilty) or potassium so I figured I’d give it a stretch, and I went two doors down to return some notecards I’d borrowed to my neighbor Jenn and to see if she wanted some leftover milk I… Continue reading The Happiest Mother on the Block
Battlefield 4, Rated M
I come from the school of Constructivist not Behaviorist parenting. No sticker charts. No gold stars. No allowance. You do what you’re supposed to do for the intrinsic rewards. Clear boundaries. Clear rules. Logical consequences. In second grade, my son angsted (that’s a fine word for his big, fat, intractable, boulder-sized opposition) one day when… Continue reading Battlefield 4, Rated M
The Giver
Eleven years old is the new thirteen. They are all pubescent and adolescent and so so over you. Mothering the eleven-year-old is all about being there but acting like you’re not. You gotta be there to say it’s enough computer time. You gotta remind them to eat a snack. You gotta tell them to put… Continue reading The Giver
Anne Lamott is a Better Mother Than Me
Yes, yes. Than I. WhatEVER. Yesterday, I read to my son excerpts from an Anne Lamott post on Mother’s Day: “I did not raise my son, Sam, to celebrate Mother’s Day. I didn’t want him to feel some obligation to buy me pricey lunches or flowers, some annual display of gratitude that you have to… Continue reading Anne Lamott is a Better Mother Than Me