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FEATURE ESSAYS Main Feature –
Comic relief for suburban moms Professional reporter turned award-winning humor columnist, Meredith O’Brien, has assembled more than six-dozen of her wittiest vignettes for a new book, which offers much-needed comic relief for today’s suburban moms. O’Brien’s new release, A Suburban Mom: Notes from the Asylum provides a realistic and humorous look at what life is really like for moms trying to live their lives and preserve their sanity while raising kids today. O’Brien began her journalism career covering city politics for the Boston Herald in the late ‘90s and soon after became pregnant with twins. When the twins were born 5 and-a-half weeks early and stayed in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit for three weeks she made a tough call. “I didn’t want to leave them,” she says, “so, I left my newspaper job, and several months later, launched my freelancing-from-home career.” She is the first to admit that she never would have imagined she’d be writing about parenting. “If you had pulled the ambitious, 20-year-old college journalist version of me aside and asked her if she thought she had humor essays about potty training in her future, she’d likely have laughed at you,” says O’Brien. “Life has a funny way of reconfiguring your perspective.” Continue reading Comic Relief for Suburban Moms Guest Features Transformation The scar is hidden in my daughter’s hair. But when the wind blows in just the right way her impressive scar comes into full view. It is a constant reminder of how much our lives have changed since the summer of 2004. Before then, I lived as a cynic who quietly questioned the validity of prayer, scoffed under my breath at stories of miracles and never gave angels a second thought. I could not have known that during my daughter’s fifth year of life my outlook would drastically transform. My precious little girl came into this world with a tiny cleft lip, wide set eyes, and a divot in her spine. As she grew her nose seemed to endlessly drip. “All nothing to worry about” her doctors told me. “She’s developing normally...” Continue reading Transformation
Vineyard ties My father claims that he’s much better at being a grandfather than he was at being a dad. As a grandfather, he’s scarcely missed a performance or a soccer tournament. Now that some of his grandchildren are growing older, he visits them at college and is even planning trips to see those who have already graduated. Continue reading Vineyard Ties
Gone in a heartbeat I awoke this morning to what appeared to be a quiet, mundane spring morning. I booted up my laptop with a strong, steamy cup of coffee in my hand. As the computer hummed to life, I clicked on my email to see what was new with friends and family. My eldest daughter, who had turned 19 the previous day, came stumbling down the stairs, eyes half closed, and hair askew. “Hi Honey, did you sleep well?” I asked. “Yeah, I guess. I don’t think I’ll ever catch up on the sleep I missed during finals week...” Continue reading Gone in a Heartbeat
Gummies, gurgles, and gurus The ear piercing howl of “gummies!” rings through the house. He’s at it again. I put the laundry down and scoop up Scarlett. That boy is going to give me heart trouble. I just know it. My son has escaped the barricade I created to keep him in the room with me while I fold laundry. He is now in the kitchen pantry, a chair under him, and climbing the back rungs. He is desperately reaching for the box of gummy snacks on the top shelf. The look of strain on his face is reminiscent of Indiana Jones reaching for the cup of Christ. You know he’s not going to get it, but he tries just the same. You have to admire that...
Middle age I see the signs of change all around me. Each day more gray hairs join the anti-brunette war being waged on my scalp. Is there no end to these new recruits? Yesterday, while answering yet another on-line survey, I came to a screeching halt. I don’t know why I keep answering them. I never win the “fabulous prize” they claim is out there but I just can’t help myself. Anyhow, I was shocked to realize I no longer get to mark the "age 25-35" box. The next choice read “36-49”. 49?!? Are you kidding me? That category is CLEARLY saying “middle-aged women check this box”! I can’t be middle-aged. I don’t feel any older than I did when I was in college. More tired maybe, but not OLDER... Continue reading Middle Age
Please send my son home exhausted! Dear Teacher, Here's my heaven sent child. He's now in your expert hands. Please don't take your eyes off him for a second. He requires strict supervision and I do pay my school taxes! I'll be home, with the phone attached to my waist, but unfortunately I'm changing the number as of nine o'clock this morning and will get it to you as soon as possible. Please send my son home exhausted! Note to Teacher, following day:...
The dog question I was prepared to one day tell my two boys not to do drugs, smoke cigarettes or drink underage. It was much harder saying no to a dream, especially one that was as harmless as a lick on the face and a wag of tail. Continue reading The Dog Question
Five or six survival tips for the writer/mom “How do you write novels with four kids?” I’ve been asked that question many times at book signings and author events. Sometimes I coyly answer, “When I wrote my first novel, I had only three kids.” The truth is . . . I’ve only seen one entire episode of Survivor. None of Lost, but now that the seasons are out on DVD, maybe I’ll try to watch a couple . . . at midnight . . . or not. My laundry takes three days to do, and then it’s time to start over again. Dinner is, well . . . lacking on most days, but I wasn’t that great of a cook before I became so obsessed. I’ve been known to say, “Pick a can...”
My mentor “Mom what are you doing?” asked my thirteen year old daughter. “I’m trying to write a chronicle and I seem to be lost for words.” Holding her sketch pad, she plopped beside me on our sectional sofa. Legs crossed, she viewed the empty spaces of my journal. “Is it that hard to put words on paper?” she asked...
A mother's dream “Ah, but misery becomes you. You have lost years in the face.” What did she mean by that? I forgot what I had looked like, but her words made me take a look in the mirror. Quick inventory-- my face completely white, almost a light shade of blue grey: I am pale like my daughter, there are my eyes blue and wide, hers more almond then mine--thank goodness there are no deep cavities for large circles around her perfect eyes. To see my face was to compare every characteristic to hers, but when that fun faded-- I saw an asylum, imprisoning a free spirit longing to fly...
Cookie from Hell My 9-year-old daughter Elizabeth revealed the necessity of making a California cookie during the car ride home from school. “It’s for extra credit. I can move a B to a B+, or an A- to an A. “Can we make one?” “Can you move a B+ to an A-?” I ask, ever the optimist, wanting to squeeze every drop of possibility from the situation. I see her nod to the affirmative in the rearview mirror. A little work for a big reward, I think. “Sure we can make one,” I reply, not really wanting to participate in yet another school project (groan), especially not caring to create a cookie in the shape of the Golden State. But seeing it as my parental duty, I agree to this seemingly small request...
A well-timed movement “Well, how was it?” I ask, maybe too cheerfully. Paul, my sweet little boy, the one who likes everything just so, is smiling and running. He has finished his first full day of kindergarten. |
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