Of particular interest to anyone who has ever made-out in the back of a school bus…or wished they had… An essay from my upcoming book, Chance of Sun: A Perfectly Imperfect Oregon Upbringing, is in this month’s Oregon Quarterly Magazine. Rockin’ the Bard when the ftc comes
The chickens turned three and five last week. I am still not sure how we all got here, let alone in one piece. But I suppose every parent feels that way. At the park over the weekend, a father, while pushing his 20-month-old son in the swing, asked, “How old are your girls?” After my…
The other night I dreamt I was pregnant with my ex-boyfriend’s baby. This is impossible for many reasons, not the least of which is I haven’t laid eyes on him since 1996. (Oh, and my ten years of marriage, though I guess that doesn’t stop everybody from getting into this particular pickle). No matter—in the…
When you are four, poop is hilarious. Last night, Noodle and I corrected an overtired meltdown (hers, though some nights it’s mine) by crawling into her bed and singing a few lullabies together. It was a lovely mother-and-child moment, the sort that seems more precious to me now that she’s only days away from five,…
Recently I took the chickens to the pet store. I envisioned a fun activity with which to fill a foggy February morning. I imagined the chicken’s delight at my suggestion of a goldfish to bring home—maybe two, if I were feeling particularly magnanimous. What a good mother I am, I secretly self-congratulated. Chicken Noodle had…
Last week I was invited to a middle-school classroom to talk about being a writer. It was one of those moments that made me go “huh?” and look over my shoulder for the real grown-up/real writer who was surely standing behind me. “Oh, you mean me?” said my inner ego, who is nerdy, shy and…
As a writer/mother, I always point out author bylines and photos when I read books to the chickens. A few days back while unloading groceries, Chicken Little pulled this box from the pile. “Look, Mom,” she said, all wide-eyed, pointing to Pa and Nell. “These are the people who wrote the popcorn!” I get so…
So, I’m trolling through the grocery store. The chickens trail behind me. They bleat. “Mommy can we have this? Can we have that? Momm-meey?” They grab boxes of Pokemon macaroni and cheese and bottles of bubble bath shaped like Cinderella off the shelves. They bonk into other shoppers like poorly-shot pool balls. It’s been a…
Captain Daddy, on the plane over as Chicken Little climbs him like King Kong on the Empire State Building, roaring and kicking: “Kill me now.” — Captain Daddy, night one, 2 a.m.: “Are you going to take her to the ER or am I?” — R (age 6) to Chicken Noodle (age 4), day two:…
Today is the one-year anniversary of this blog! Bust out the champagne! Oh. It’s 6 am. Well. Coffee will do. Slip a little something in it, if you must. Here’s a Blooming Year One redux. First post: Popcorn Blog Inspiration: Late Bloomers Hero’s Challenge, Act I: Consult Foreshadowing: Free the French Fries Plot Twist:…