My Jenn-eration

As I’m wiping down the table from dinner, I casually listen in on the lively game of superheroes being played out in the next room. Phil had promised the older two he’d play with them before bed and now it’s a mighty showdown: My Little Pony versus toy soldiers versus the Riddler. It’s a fantastical scene that could only be concocted in the minds of seven and five year olds. I hear Dylan excitedly play out one of the scenes: “And then Daddy….the Penguin is going to use his rays to stop the soldiers and then he’ll take over the Bat cave!” I wait and listen for Phil’s response. It sounds like this: “umm hmmm…” Every part of my body tenses up. Without moving, without looking, I know exactly what is happening right now. His phone went off – more work emails. He responded to the notification. He is looking down and checking email. I do not in any way blame him for this. He is caught in a constant tug between his personal and professional life. And that phone is the rope that keeps...

Recently I attended a baby shower for an old friend. She is about to set off on a whole new path in her life: that of mothering and parenthood. In her honor, we piled into another old friend’s home and packed it with mismatched chairs and relatives and love and good wishes and baby clothes and our most important tips for the soon to be new mother. People had lots of really wonderful (and useful) pieces of advice – things like trust your gut, and if you’re really stuck, call your mother. But the one funny thing about all of it was that I couldn’t help but feel like so much of the way we paint new motherhood and parenthood for that matter for those about to jump into the deep, is one of extremes. We say things like, “get your rest now because you’ll never sleep again!” or, “you’ll never know a love like this,” or imply that you will instinctively know what to do, or automatically feel overwhelmed, or feel complete, or feel everything or feel nothing. It’s ironic really, this p...

It’s a pretty typical Sunday morning. The house is a disaster. I survey the damage. There are boots and coats and toys and books and dishes and rapidly aging holiday cards as far as the eye can see. And socks. My god there are socks everywhere. For a reason I can’t quite explain, my children go through 3-4 pairs of socks each day. They take them off immediately whenever they come inside the house and replace them with a fresh pair. And they leave their old socks just about anywhere. It is a horrifying and disgusting habit and I can always tell just how much we’ve let things slide on cleaning by how many stray socks are in my line of sight. I review the list in my head of what’s on tap, of what needs to get done. Sunday will be busy indeed. I’ve done two loads of laundry already and the laundry hamper is still completely full. I have no idea how this is even possible. We’ve got two different birthday parties and three different cards to make, the grocery shopping is a high priorit...