Some call it the witching hour. That lost piece of time, like a forgotten tune, tucked between pages of homework, serving supper and filling the tub, the space between unpacking the dishwasher and packing school lunches, brushing little teeth and saying prayers and quickly washing clothes because your oldest son has run out of pants…
I turned 40 just before the start of the pandemic, and found myself grappling with the fairly common range of emotions that our society refers to as a “mid-life crisis.” I felt overburdened with responsibility and seriousness, constantly pressured by high expectations, and uncertain about where to go next in my career or how to…
My mother came to visit. This was a big deal because these days we live five thousand kilometres apart and I hadn’t seen her since I was home last year when my dad died. We email and video-chat fairly regularly, but that isn’t the same. It isn’t face-to-face. She came at the end of September and stayed with us for a month. When I told friends about this visit, they paused, then asked rather deliberately how it “actually” was. A whole month with your mother in your house?
My four-year-old has strong opinions about what she wears.
There have been many columns in my 30-year career as a newspaper columnist that stirred up readers to respond by writing letters to the editor.
My aunt used to sing a hymn that I loved: “Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on Thee.”
At the beginning of February, we welcomed our second daughter. This means that the number of children in our family is now equal to the number of parents – we have officially lost our majority.
Looking at my beautiful daughter, nearly four, I’m struck by how quickly these past four years have fled.
Last spring, after six years of fertility struggles – which included one beautiful, healthy baby but also five miscarriages and many empty, helpless months – I adjusted my thinking to being the mother of an only child. This wasn’t especially beatific on my part, I just started considering the benefits of my situation.
What if the Church was packed with Christians who believed, in their very deepest selves, that God looked at them with tender love and intense joy, the way we look at our beloved children?
I love my husband, but I have doubts about how good a mother I am for our oldest three children. Sometimes they seem like strangers to me.
I’m starting to think it’s possible that I have a strong-willed child. The term has been rattling around in my head for a while now, planted by several “challenging” weeks we’ve had since September. Things will be moving happily along, me and my little blonde buddy, and then, bam! Some kind of switch flips and we have a truly awful, push-me-to-the-brink, marriage-threatening, sanity-threatening, hang-my-head-at-bedtime kind of day.