It’s rare when a movie touches a person so deeply that it draws them to tears. Not the kind of tears that are a sympathetic reaction, but tears of the deeply emotional kind. Tears of fear and regret for things that you’ve done or not yet done but regret not doing so. Sometimes a movie just grabs you and makes you think all sorts of what ifs. What if I had just done this? What would happen if I did this right now? Why did I not do this sooner? It was hard to not contemplate these ideas with World Cancer Day at hand.
It’s all over the news, and as the Jian Ghomeshi trial begins, my hands are frigid. Yours may be, too. There are so many of us who have been sexual assault victims. So many witnesses to travesties of justice. Maybe many have decided that now is a great time for a technology-free vacation in the woods somewhere.
Wait.
If you’ve ever asked a young child to, “wait a minute,” they’ll be inquisitive before that minute is up – heck, it might even happen before you’ve finished speaking! The concepts of time and patience are abstract, and difficult to grasp for concrete thinkers. That’s why I used the Crayola Melt ‘N Mold Factory to help teach time and patience to my almost 8 year old son with Autism.
I’ve spent my entire adult life searching high and low for the best bathroom cleaner that removes soap scum off the glass like a magic wand. If I found anything that promised to “clean your shower doors in minutes” and make my glass so clean and clear that I’ll repeatedly walk into it, it never worked. Or, it took multiple washes, and by the time my shower was “clean,” I killed millions of brain cells and fried my nose hairs from the stench of bleach and chemicals.
I’ve been a parent for over 7 years now, and despite what some stories may report, I always have time to shower. Washing and drying my hair though (and straightening it some days) is a whole other story. Some days I am rushed, or an impromptu need to change from my robe and bummy jeans/hoodie arises and I have to put some effort into my appearance.
The words ‘Super Bowl’ brings a lot of things to mind. Aside from the obvious, football, I always think of gatherings, friends, and incredible food. While some foods are classic football party fare and will never go out of style, sometimes a little menu reinvention is necessary. A staple in our house, chowder is a weekly request during the cold winter months. Paired with a thick crusty bread for dipping, this recipe often needs doubling as even my 9 year old goes back for extra heaping servings! This recipe is easily tweaked for clam or shrimp lovers, too.
As a mom of four littles, I often have to navigate the kitchen with care. While we have a nice kitchen, it’s not quite big enough to handle 4 extra bodies that don’t yet know how to control themselves. Most of the help they offer comes in the form of dumping cups of flour or stirring the contents of a bowl for me, which is nice if you can let go of the mess that inevitably occurs. My 9 year old has been asking for a bit more of a lesson in the kitchen recently. She wants to learn how to make a few of her favorite meals on her own. Who am I to turn down such an opportunity?
Super Bowl is around the corner and the menu is the most important piece. My family loves these Spicy Shrimp Tacos, which are big on flavor without being as big on calories as a lot of Super Bowl fare. Fortunately, there’s some easy ways to enjoy the big game without missing out on all the foods you love.
Unique baby names are so important. They give meaning, show kindness to your heritage, and personality. Also, you probably worry about your kid being called something horrible in school. Wow. It feels like a bigger decision than getting pregnant in the first place. So many of us would love to avoid the ‘Jennifer 1’ , ‘Jennifer 2’ phenomenon that plagued us through grade school. Some of us bought every typical book, and frustrated with the normalcy, went through newspapers, Restoration Hardware catalogues and then, the atlas. (Of course…)
While I was never a Minolo Blahnik wearing stylista in the city, back in the days of freedom, I used to love to throw on some heels and a chic (or so I’d thought) ensemble. My friends and I would get together, at a local bar. We’d drink cocktails and dance the night away, in a circle, like a ring of shoe and purse worshipers.










