I think my mother said it best. “You seem happy,” she noted, studying my face carefully. “But the ‘sparkle’ is missing.”
Sparkle? It sounds vague, but deep down I knew what she was talking about. You see, my mother knows me better than I know myself. She picks up on the things I’d never say aloud. It’s as if she can read my internal monologue. …
I’ve always been a “laugh it off” kind of girl, but as a mother I’m done laughing.
Why is it okay that there is an entire sisterhood of broadcast journalists who have been trained—as a matter of career survival—to numb themselves to offensive, questionable behavior? Why do we tell ourselves being uncomfortable, objectified, or sexually harassed in person or online is just “part of the job”?…
Perhaps it’s a product of genius marketing, but it seems we mothers have an innate urge to match our young. There’s something so tantalizing about carefully coordinated “Mommy and Me” clothing. I mean seriously, what could be cuter?
Ever walk through a photo studio or flip through a family album and think… wow, those people really nailed that look! The colors are cohesive… the style, casual yet classic.…