When my daughter was two, she came to me crying. “I want to go home,” she hiccuped out of the blue. “We are home,” I said, getting on my knees so I could give her a proper hug. “No,” she wailed, “Our other home.” Ah,
It’s no secret that I love a party. My sister always teases me about the fact that I use any excuse to create one: “Oh, it’s a full moon! Let’s have a party!; Oh my lily is blooming, let’s have a party!!; Oh my roses
I was fascinated by the review of this book in the New York Times Book Review a couple of weeks ago. The book is called The Smartest Kids in the World and How They Got That Way, and was written by Amanda Ripley. In the
When I was a child, I walked home from school through Mr. Farley’s lush green apple orchards. A fresh crisp apple was the perfect tonic after a long day at school. I made mud pies and tried to get my little sister to eat them.
I’m watching my two-year-old daughter running circles around my living room. She’s dressed herself in a leotard with stars on it, her tall puppy dog boots, and a pink silk square of fabric tied around her neck for a cape. As she runs, she looks
