I walk around the house mid-morning, my eyes scanning for things to put away or trash. I am tired of
Each November adoptionland is rife with op-eds, hashtags, conferences, panels and social media blitzes by all members of the triad.
My daughter, all of nine and I are standing, facing each other. I hold a tube of cucumber face pack
“I am bored!” The words seem to resound, bounce off the walls of our home over the weekend. If they
An essay I wrote earlier this year reflecting on how my mothering my children feels cleaved is now online on
cleave1split or sever (something), especially along a natural line or grain.“the large ax his father used to cleave wood for
My hands circles her tiny body, my face pressed against her back as she sits and turns the pages of
I park and zip my rather loose fleece jacket as I step out the driver’s seat. I open the passenger
In the many years, I have been a blogger, I have often paused to consider what I am doing. I
“Amma, can we please let Snowflake free?” Ammu pleads with me, still sleepy-eyed at 6:30 AM in the morning. “After
“I don’t like my fake name” muttered Ammu, my first daughter. I was bent over the stove tossing rice noodles
I sat at my desk browsing for gifts, ears keenly attuned to the sounds from the adjoining family room. I’d
Here is the piece i pitched to The Huffington Post to get on their blogger list. The piece is here.
We reached in the dead of the night, picking up room keys from a sleepy employee who went through the