Skip to main content

Introducing the ABC project

One of my 2022 goals is to share my writing. I too often create things, think about sharing them, over-think it, then get shy about it, try to perfect it, get bored with that, feel I can't get it perfect anyway, then move onto something else and think too much time has passed to share that thing from before, and so on. But I am so inspired by those creators out there who share their art, even the imperfect bits! Seeing their work brings me a zing of joy. It encourages me to see the art in my own life. It makes me feel more human, more hopeful, and just more. So, here's to me sharing more. 

Over the next few weeks I will be sharing excerpts from The ABC's of Pandemic Parenting. The work as a whole will be available soon.

This collection of mini-memoir was written in June, 2021 during a Writer In Residency of my own making, inspired by An Artist Residency in Motherhood. I used my daughter’s Eric Carle ABC book as a jumping off place, curious to see what would emerge from each animal’s inspiration as well as what themes overall would appear. It was so fun. And captured my experience of a very particular moment in time, mid-pandemic. I returned to these pieces in January, 2022 amid the third preschool closure of the month, in what I hope is now a late-pandemic era. I share them as a record of myself and an invitation for your own reflection of how this very moment in time connects to all your other parts of self. May we all emerge together soon. 


Popular posts from this blog

My Litquake 2012 Report

I've been avoiding putting this together, because a part of me really doesn't want this year's Litquake festival to be over already.  The other part of me is still cranky-tired, wandering around trying to get to all those projects I said I'd get to after Litquake, and feeling post-Christmas like. In short, this year's Litquake was AMAZING.  Every year has been awesome, but this one was particularly special for me because I got to actually help plan the awesome.  As a volunteer during the festival for the past several years, I definitely felt like I contributed to making each event I helped at awesome, but this year, being on the committee,* I got to witness the tremendous build up to the festival that happens the whole year prior.  The amount of love, sweat and time that goes into it is incredible, and I'm not sure I've ever been part of something so cool.  Which is not to say I'm not still cranky-tired and looking forward to feeling fully recovered.

What To Expect When You Are Expecting A Pandemic

“When I think about all that has to transpire to get from pregnancy to the birth, I am overwhelmed by time and the unknown. It’s not useful to contemplate. There is only today, and it is good.” I documented my move from ambivalence about parenting, to IVF, to motherhood, as well as all of Year One. I did it longhand because that’s what I did back then. So now, finally, I’m typing all those pages up, in part because of the great What If that living amid a pandemic creates. And I came across this yesterday and it is so true for the current moment, for this, the fifth week of Sheltering in Place. Ways this time is like pregnancy: It can make you fat. It will definitely make you crave near-constant meals and snacks. You will swing from feeling good to anxiety-laden, angry, irritable and back again several times a day. You will want to know how this will all unfold, how hard it will get, exactly how you and your life will be changed. You can’t know any of that. Ther

For Mom, Twenty-One Years Later

I lost my mom twenty-one years ago today. She died from complications related to a long battle with chronic-progressive multiple sclerosis. I was a week away from turning twenty-one. Which means I have not had her as long as I did have her. It used to make me unique among my friends, to have lost a parent at such a young age. But I’m no longer young and many friends have joined this depressing club. The dues are astronomical and no one prepares refreshments. People, moms are important. Don’t let anyone tell you differently. Whether you were once a child or are currently a mom. They are the sun, moon, and stars, even when they are completely obscured by darkness. I wish she mattered less. She doesn’t. She matters more than almost anything: that first hit of love, that childhood sense of safety, that initial understanding of what it means to be a woman in the world: mom. Mom in 1974-ish Memory is funny when it comes to dead people: I can remember her any way I