I made school lunch for the last time, ever. "This is the last time I'm ever going to make lunch for you to take to school," I said to my daughter, as I folded a chicken and rice burrito and wrapped it up tight. "You're free!" she whooped. "Aren't you glad?" Seven years ago, I … Continue reading Something about that list from the working mother battlefield.
FORTY. Huzzah! Let's do it: There's an age by which a woman is supposed to have come into her own, to know a thing or two. Who decides this magic number that marks a woman's arrival? She does, silly. In my observation, though, women don't always seize this inherent power. A friend of mine -- … Continue reading Something about finding one’s voice.
In the back of her closet, behind the clothes, next to the dresser, were two shoe boxes, each of which held a pair of peau de soie-wrapped stilettos, one pair cream, the other bright kelly green, both size 7 AAAA. I'm certain about the cream colored pair, which were her wedding shoes. I'm less sure … Continue reading Matrescence.
It is autumn, occasional chill begging a blanket's comfort, occasional warmth reviving sandal straps. These are unpredictable days, suspended somewhere between bronze and silver. Foggy morning mist gives way, perhaps, to unexpected sun. But, then again, maybe not. Clarity may lurk just out of reach. It is hard to feel settled in this season, the … Continue reading A woman in season.
I've been thinking about the war among women and our deepening factions. We who question Jill Abramson's firing. We who think women belong at home. We #YesAllWomen sign carriers. We who snap photos of other mothers' bad parenting and send them to police hotlines. We who are pro life, and we pro choice. Anne Lamott … Continue reading If Laura and Hillary were pals.
I've been on the hair color pipe since 9th grade, addicted since my first bottle of Sun-In, seduced by the promise that blondes would have more fun. I remember the look on my mother's face when she saw those first brassy streaks. It was the same expression she wore when I walked down the stairs, … Continue reading Embracing the sea hag within.
My friend is moving away. I write “my friend” as if she were my only one, an outrageous lie. I have so many friends, more than I deserve because I am often a lousy friend in return, but none of them is a friend in quite the same way Lacy has been. We are not … Continue reading The things we leave behind.
This week's Princeton Alumni Weekly features a piece by Anne-Marie Slaughter written as a follow-up to her widely distributed and much discussed piece published in The Atlantic this summer about women's ability (or lack thereof) to "have it all." Reading her report of the both criticisms and praise she received in response to her article … Continue reading The all-you-can-eat buffet.