I got married back in November, after knowing my husband for 7 years. He is my best friend, my soul partner, my rock, my clown, all of those good things. And we often don’t sleep together. “Gasp! What?! You don’t sleep together?! Doomed for
I say that motherhood is hard. I say it a lot. Especially when I write. Sometimes I feel self-conscious about this. I don’t want people to read what I write and come away with the impression that I define motherhood as hard. I don’t.
I see you storming out of Target, carrying your crying boy while another three kids, under the age of seven, scurry after you across the parking lot. I see you without a cart, without any bags. I see the red-hot anger in your face
By Heather Cori Rader “Mom, why don’t people love the Earf?” asks my son, Jamin. He holds a bag bulging with the trash that he and his dad have picked up from our street. “Because we don’t teach our children about reverence,” I reply.
I recently had to return to work full-time after seven years at home with my three children. I knew going back would be a challenge on many levels, but I also knew that I was well fortified. I have family and friends to support
The best part was the run down from the father, who informed me that although he performed a few songs of his older Slim Shady work, Eminem did say that he is now a different man from back then, and talked briefly about how.
Because of my passion for (and writings on) the topic of transitions, my readers often ask me for parenting advice. While I feel competent sharing ideas and guidance about the transition into parenting – i.e. bearing and birthing a baby in preparation for the first year
My milk is slowly diminishing. My sweet baby boy is active, busy, too interested in the world around him to breastfeed non-stop like he used to. We still have our moments, daily, but they are slowly spreading out. He doesn’t spend as much time
Last summer I took my kids to the Bronx zoo. A two hour trip for us each way. A bus to a subway, and then a several block walk to the zoo. It was hot out and I wore my daughter in a wrap
We were late for school, stuck behind a slow-moving garbage truck, and the kids were bickering loudly over who was to blame. Instead of my usual go-to responses (negotiating peace talks, cranking up the radio, or shouting them down), on this particular morning I