Wednesday, December 19, 2012
One of the upsides of aging: It’s easier to let things go.
I’m not yet 40. And this is not a review of the movie of the same name as the title of this column. But if someone would like to pay me to write a review of that movie, I would gladly accept an advance copy. Which reminds me. Pretty much the best job I ever had—other than the one for which I was paid by a beauty website to flit around Los Angeles and write about people nicknamed things like “The Fastest Bikini Waxer West of La Cienega” (I have never BEEN so well-groomed!)—was when I briefly wrote previews and reviews of “Sex and the City” episodes for a big newspaper. Because I received screening tapes before a season launched, I was a full month or so ahead of you when I screamed things like “GOOD RIDDANCE!” at my television upon learning…
Friday, November 16, 2012
A study shows 90 percent of parents holler at their children. At what cost?
My 7-year-old has taken to pointing out when he thinks I’ve not slept enough. “Mom, I think you need a nap,” he’ll say kindly. That his kindness is almost always in response to some high-volume freak-out I’ve had makes the whole exchange especially shameful. He could hold a grudge. He could give me the cold shoulder. He could make me pay. Oh, and I would. I’m supposed to be the adult here, after all. I should be able to hold it together, even after six straight hours of whining. Or when my boys’ umpteenth wrestling match of the day results in a broken dining room chair. Or after telling someone to put his shoes on, over and over for half an hour. Or when a certain child wills himself to stay awake, making as many as—JUST SAY—17 pilgrimages…
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Will a one-sentence journal make me my family’s memory curator?
The other day, my husband casually remarked that I’d be much more likely to get Alzheimer’s than he. Can you even imagine saying such a thing? Given the fact that we’re neck-deep in gut-wrenching family Alzheimer’s drama right now, his comment was particularly nervy. Someday in the extremely distant future, I may speak to him again. Either that or I’ll forget he said it by the weekend. Oh, wait… Anyway, since then, I’ve been doing what any sane and rational person would do: completing crossword puzzles and furiously trying to remember things I want to remember when I can no longer remember things. (HONESTLY. My husband has known me for 17 years. Theoretically, he should have a handle on my neuroses. The fact that he said that is making me…
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