I should be showering. I should be packing. I should be soaking my blistered, bruised feet (10 mile run prepping for half-marathon next weekend + ten hours in bridesmaid heels…
Author: <span>Beth Hendrickson</span>
I am a liberated woman. The kid has been dropped off at her grandparent’s house for the weekend. I’m sitting on a bus (not Greyhound but the smallish, whitish variety…
Summer is officially over. Not because I developed my first case of popsicle toes while snuggled in bed last night (much to Big Friend’s chagrin). Not because maple whirli-gigs have…
Pre-eclampsia I sat with clasped hands in the passenger seat, watching but not seeing the buzz-cut hills along Interstate 279 slip off of the front windshield. My legs were shaking…
First movement: The Salad. Slices of new potatoes lurked under the heirloom tomatoes and haricot verts, waiting to add the final timpani roll to the salad symphony. Dubbed a…
My prayers last night included a special shout out to Lauri Toys for the incomparable, parental face-saving grace packaged compactly and advertised as the unassuming “Toddler Tote.” You may remember…