yearly recap for 2011
I read this yearly recap on All & Sundry’s blog, and thought I would do it myself as I reflect on the new year. 1. What did you do in 2011 that you’d never done before? I ate only raw foods for two weeks. And I actually liked it. 2. Did you keep your new year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year? Oh boy. Here’s what I wrote last year: Separating work time from family time – I mentioned this in another post, but finding the balance of working at home has . . .
I’m a better aunt than I am a mother
Ever since my nephews were old enough to fly without a parent, we’ve been having them out for part of the summer. I think the first time they came out they were 4 and 7. Now they are 14 and 17. It used to be that we had to pay extra money for them to be escorted to and from their seat by a flight attendant, wearing an Unaccompanied Minor sticker. Now they are old enough to check in themselves, and one of them can drive. (gulp). For many years we hosted them before . . .
the bedroom as metaphor for the neglected inner sanctuary
A couple weeks ago, I was talking with some other bloggers about our messy bedrooms. We all had a couple things in common: we all write about our lives on the internet, we are all relative perfectionists, we all keep the front of our homes neat and tidy, and we all have secret shame about the state of our own rooms. We laughed about the ways we divert people from ever entering our rooms, and confessed our mortification over babysitters seeing our private mess. But then the . . .
psychology today’s disturbing meme to black women: “we’re just not that into you”
This morning Psychology Today published an article with the salacious title, “Why Are Black Women Less Physically Attractive Than Other Women?” In it, the author uses what he calls an objective, scientific measure to analyze the beauty of women across racial lines. The author doesn’t go into much detail about his methodology. He describes his measurement techniques fairly cryptically, but if I understand him correctly, participants are rated for attractiveness three times by . . .
oh yes he did
Mark and I volunteered at Ground Zero shortly after 9/11. Mark flew out as one of the first official chaplains allowed on the scene, while there was still ash in the air and hope of survivors. About a week later, he returned and I went with him, finding the scene much more somber and mechanized. We spent some of our days down at what was referred to as “the pile”, an eight-story heap of debris, making ourselves available for counseling with the men charged with the task of . . .
how has social media changed your relationships?
I go to a lot of conferences – sometimes for blogging, sometimes for orphan care issues. But I’ve noticed a pattern. In the days before I leave, I always do the following: get weepy about leaving my children spend about 46 hours in activities designed to procrastinate packing have a wardrobe crisis and try on every outfit I own spend 13 minutes actually packing write a post crowd-sourcing for whatever topic I’m speaking on So, guess what this post is gonna be . . .
permission to say no . . . and other things
I’m prepping for the class I teach tonight on the psychology of addiction. This evening we’ll be discussing the family legacy of addiction. Unfortunately, it is one Mark and I know well. Both of our paternal grandfathers died from complications of the liver . . . complications that were caused by excessive alcohol consumption. We both came from families that resolved to end the cycle of addiction, but unfortunately addictive patterns do not always cease in the absence of . . .
post-racial barbie
Mark and I had a much-anticipated date night tonight, to celebrate our 14th wedding anniversary. We went dinner at our favorite Cuban spot, and then we decided to get crazy and spontaneous, so we went to Target to buy a new rice cooker. HOT DATE. I know. We were cutting through the toy aisle on our way to look at the kitchen wares, and noticed a row of multiracial Barbies. Okay, cool. Barbie has got the diversity thing going on. Only, do you notice . . .
cleaning out the office
I've wanted to be a psychotherapist since I was in eighth grade. It's what I went to school for, and it's what I've done for the last ten years. I've been licensed and with with the same private practice for ten years. It was a very comfortable place to me. I liked my colleagues, I liked that the job was challenging and cerebral, and I loved that I could set my own hours and work part-time for a decent wage. One of the things that drew me to this career was that I thought it would be very . . .
faking it
If I'm being honest, it is getting increasingly difficult to write about my life in this public space. It's easy to post a funny story about my foibles, or rant about something in the media. But life at home is heavy - probably about as heavy as it has ever been. I've told the story before of how whenever someone is mean to India at school, she comes home and repeats whatever mean phrase she heard to me, in a way to become the aggressor instead of the wounded. It makes her . . .
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