Lily tiptoes into my bedroom, but I don’t hear her. She gently taps me on the shoulder. “Mom,” she says, giving me a little shake. I blink my eyes open, trying to make out her shape in the darkness. “What is it?” I ask, but I already know what she’s going to say. She woke up and can’t get back to sleep. I pull the blanket back and slide over to make room for her. She climbs in, not hoisting herself up like she did a few years ago, but gently slinking into the bed and under the covers. She is …
family
Pizza Dough by Heart
I haven’t made pizza dough in over a year. I used to make it all the time, at least once a week like clockwork. I’d pull out the old Betty Crocker Cookbook because, even though I made the dough week after week, I never memorized the recipe. But I liked pulling out that old book. My father-in-law sent it to my husband, along with a half-dozen others, when Adam applied to be a firefighter. He hadn’t been hired yet, but my father-in-law must have had a hunch that he would. Every firefighter needs …
The Photos that Cheer Us Up
On my refrigerator is a photograph I took of my daughter Lily right before she turned two. A few months ago, while my husband Adam was cleaning out the basement, he found it and handed it to me, a big smile on his face. “Do you remember this?” he asked. “Yeah, I do,” I said, taking the photo in my hand. “I took this at that restaurant on the Causeway. We were sitting outside, but they made us move in because it was too windy and the umbrellas were almost bending in half.” I looked closer …
Things We Carry on Mother’s Day
I wish I could say I’ve always liked Mother’s Day. I can see how, if you have a good relationship with your mother, the day pops up in the middle of May like a reminder: Remember how much you love the woman who mothered you. Tell her. I would stand in the card aisle at the grocery store pulling down cards one by one, reading them and scoffing. My relationship with my mother has never been the kind you’d put in a greeting card. No one wants to send a card that says, “I struggle with loving …
Home and Thanksgiving
The only time I ever went home for Thanksgiving was in college. I’m not sure it counted since my college was only twenty minutes from home and I stopped by almost every week. But I lived at the dorm and for Thanksgiving weekend, they kicked everyone out. So, I went home – back to my father and his old house, back to my bed. The house wasn’t all that old, but it felt it. It was built in the fifties – a four square that had never been updated. When my father first bought that house, the lady …