Voices from the Backseat
Voices From the Backseat was my blog which ran from 2017-2021 and held my hand as I took baby steps into writing. It started as a collection of funny stories about the little people inhabiting the backseat. Over time, the topics expanded and the little people moved to the front. I still believe that the best place for a soul-baring conversation is on a drive. Here are a few of my favorites. Click on the descriptions or images to read them in their entirety.
Lately when the moms get together, the conversation often veers to puberty and all of the super-fun conversations it entails. My generation of moms came of age in an era when Our Bodies, Ourselves was easily available. Our girls have been armed with an array of pleasantly illustrated, affirmational books published by the behemoth that is American Girl. . .
It is one of those miniscule changes, a tiny, ephemeral, imperceptible shift that marks the borderline between one and the other. . .
Hooray, Hooray, It's the Last of May
May is truly the most ridiculous month. It surpasses even those months that require gift-buying, feast preparation, or costume-acquisition. It is with a huge sigh of relief that I'll turn over the calendar tonight . . .
Exit Lane to Adulthood
When I remember my much younger self, it’s almost like I’m remembering a dream. I experienced that life as a version of myself, but not really the same self that I am now. Sometime around junior year, though, things shifted. After that, the events of my life happened to present-day me, just somewhere else along the continuum . . .
A Preponderance of Caution
My follow up call to the Poison Control was reassuring, and the vet on the other end deadpanned that if he'd brought up the underwear, the grape was probably the least of our worries . . .
Kid Summer Fades to Black
The Kid Version of Summer has definitely begun to show its age. It's gotten a little bit frayed, worn out, and ready to go in the hand-me-down pile. . .
Goodbye, Southwood Glen
I don't remember the other parents in that first meeting, huddled on the too-tiny chairs as we clutched our sheaves of paper. I was too nervous. If I could go back in time, I'd recognize faces that have since become fixtures in my life, friends and the kinds of neighbors who have truly been through it all with you . . .
No one had to create a curriculum to teach me to hate my belly fat. Life was my curriculum, and I was a dedicated
student . . .
I Went to the Woods to Live Peripherally
Thoughts on Sixth Grade Camp
Sixth grade girls are very into personal hygiene, and yet they kind of aren’t. I had girls scanning their schedules as soon as we arrived, planning when they were going to shower. They discussed which showers they were going to use, and planned showering dates with friends with the urgency of a debutante ball. They compared notes on what they’d wear to and from the shower, and compared the scent of overwhelmingly fruity scented products in the impossibly steamy bathrooms. So, yeah, they were into it . . .
All verbs will be dramatic actions such as "jump," "run," and "punch-in-the-face." Quieter, intransitive (like that, mom?) verbs such as "become" are frowned upon. All adjectives will come from the usual descriptor set for an ogre. Examples would be "hairy," "stinky," or "gross . . ."