Sometimes parenting (or cleaning/organizing a house with) young children feels Sisyphean: that I, just like this mythological man, am striving to push this boulder up a hill, only...

If Blythe has ever heard Shakespeare’s infamous metaphor about the world being a stage, she has no doubt taken it literally, of course delegating herself to...

The last few weeks I’ve watched Blythe remove herself from varied activities to go sit down against a wall or in a random corner, only to declare,...

This past summer, while in Florida, the whole group ventured out to dinner at a restaurant that we had been told was “kid-friendly.” Aside from...

I’ve recently been thinking quite a bit about this series of toddler books surrounding a boy named David entitled, “Oh, David!” “No, David!” “David gets in Trouble.” “Ooops.” —...

“[Mom] also drove my sisters and myself crazy by folding the most personal moments of our childhood lives into her talks as further illustrations of...

I’m going to reengage and confess that I’ve been a b*tch this last week. We all have — well, carried some form of the attitude anyway. Or...

Today the boys decided to have their “boy’s club” again and locked Blythe out of their room: “she’s always jacking with [their] stuff.” Normally, I...

Today, I took the kids to go swimming. On the way (not really), I picked up a car-less friend who lives on this little dirt...

I think I’ve mentioned Blythe’s scream before — the  one that sounds like a ring-wraith. At 18 months, it only grows more powerful by the...