I was born in 1979 and therefore consider myself a Double Stuf Oreo of generational influences. I have the unique perspective of having all of my formative years wedged between banana clips and Nirvana.
If my inner child took visible shape, she'd be smoking a clove cigarette while watching Punky Brewster - the show about a single, white man in his 50s who somehow manages to adopt a runaway child after hiding her in his apartment for several days.
Children of my particular era have a very unique sense of dread that informs their humor. My children don't think most of my jokes are funny, but I remind them that they can pour milk into their cereal without staring at the poster of a missing child.
And that when they turn on Netflix, they do not hear a man with an ominous voice that stretches out of the television like an entire package of Big League Chew saying, “It's 10 p.m. Do you know where your children are?”...
Everything is broken. My favorite plate, my favorite pair of heels, my favorite suede boots, my favorite holiday... In the midst of modern-day Thanksgiving come platitudes like this one: “I'm so thankful that Bobby got a 100 on his being a super-perfect kid test that no one else was...
Everything is broken. My favorite plate, my favorite pair of heels, my favorite suede boots, my favorite holiday... In the midst of modern-day Thanksgiving come platitudes like this one: “I'm so thankful that Bobby got a 100 on his being a super-perfect kid test that no one else was...
As an employee of a local, private school, I've been asking questions about the CEP (Community Eligibility Provision) that provides free food to schools in low-income areas meeting a swath of eligibility criteria published in a large book of guidelines (think The Lord of the Rings, but with many fewer Hobbits) since about spring of 2015. All Brattleboro town elementary schools became eligible with a program roll-out effective fall of 2016 - excluding Saint Michael School. Despite our school's relationship...
State Representative Mollie Burke stopped by my house today with her re-election pamphlet. I greeted her with pajamas, bedhead, and my newly acquired Barry White voice. “Oh. Hey, Mollie. I sure do wish I could invite you in, girl. But [bass riff] I've got a cold.” She smiled, opted to wave through the glass, and then helped my daughter Scarlett remove a spider from her bike handlebars before promising to come back to chat when I was feeling better. Mollie...
I have this nasty habit of overemphasizing my downfalls. Because I feel unworthy of success, or maybe I don't know what to do with the feelings of actually not failing. Because failure, success and the art of not failing are three separate things, and we have the right to acknowledge them as such. Failure is if my kids are in bed wondering if I love them. Not failing is when I run out of granola bars and give my children...
Children have an odd fascination with knowing how old adults are. It's in their DNA to think of life experience in terms of numbers. At my first daughter's first birthday party, I'm on film saying, “When your child is turning 60, you know you're old.” I was speaking about my grandmother and my uncle. It was his 60th birthday, and my grandmother was traveling to celebrate with him. At 27, sitting with my 1-year-old, I couldn't even grasp the idea...
In 2011, Tropical Storm Irene hit and brought the state of Vermont to its knees. Recovery was difficult and felt endless. In the immediate aftermath, we had one another, and we had the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA). The National Guard arrived with manpower and FEMA rode into town with their capes of governmental red tape billowing in the flood mud dust and got right down to the business of business. Our quiet, brookside neighborhood was hit hard. When my...