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The summer after I finished the fourth grade, I spent a week at YMCA summer camp. I got to my cabin and put my duffel bag on my bunk and looked around. There wasn’t even one familiar face among the other campers. On a whim, I decided I would be someone different. That someone . . . → Read More: Faker Hey, before we get started with the very first entry in my new category, Leading With My Chin, do you see that over there in the upper right corner? It’s new! That’s right; now you can find No Points for Style on Facebook. Click to “like” me, will ya’? * . . . → Read More: Do Unto Others Brian and I took Carter to the ER last night. After four nebulizer treatments in three hours, he still wasn’t breathing well so we piled into the car at midnight and headed out in search of a few doses of prednisone. Why can’t they put reasonably comfortable chairs in ER exam rooms? Do they think . . . → Read More: Whatever A long sabbatical from blogging leaves a blank space where there should be thousands of words. Non-bloggers probably don’t know about that vacancy, but every writer knows what I mean. The words of the past months are starting to crowd my skull, but fortunately, a happy thing happened last week: when I thought of . . . → Read More: My (not so) Triumphant Return I’m grateful to Maura Kelly for her piece yesterday on Marie Claire Magazine’s website. Seriously. For one thing, the response to her piece from the blogosphere and the twitterverse have been balm for my soul. The pleas for acceptance, kindness, understanding, and love give me new hope. For another thing, I am reminded to . . . → Read More: Public Bodies Brian and I were watching TV news last night. Being of the ultra-liberal-commie-pinko persuasion, we typically get our news from fringe organizations like the New York Times and NPR, but for some reason, we let it play. There was a story about yet another suicide by a teen who had been mercilessly bullied at . . . → Read More: I’m Holding the Conch Shell When I met Sarah* last winter, her 14 year old son Logan had already been in therapeutic foster care (TFC) for almost 6 months. Our support group for parents of children with mood disorders has been a life-changing source of support for Brian and me, but sometimes, witnessing the chaos and pain in the . . . → Read More: Disposable Boy Carter and I have enjoyed some time out of time – two weeks of puttering, chatting, playing, and watching an unhealthy amount of Little House on the Prairie. We stuck with LHOTP DVDs because the mid-term election campaign ads on TV leave me with the desire to run around to all the campaign headquarters . . . → Read More: Sad and Broken I got an email last night, a note from a friend about my last post. She reminded me of something, the idea that was central to all my parenting decisions before the crises of recent years distracted me. That idea was this: my children are not mine. They do not belong to me; I . . . → Read More: Letting Go I love Jacob. In my toenails, I love him. In my liver and capillaries and plasma, I love him. In the late-1980s, when my whole family was caught up in the self-help movement, it was easy to stand arm’s-distance away from my parents and acknowledge all that they had done wrong, the sins committed, . . . → Read More: To the Moon  |
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