A large container of hand-me-down, 40 year old Lego bricks recently arrived from the in-laws. My son’s response: bliss. My husband’s: nostalgia. Mine: equal parts admiration and eco-anxiety.
Just before relocating to the wine, foie gras and steak tartare capital of Europe, I was told that winters would be gray, but that nothing was better than red wine and roasted meat. This advice came from someone who didn’t know I’d been a teatotaling pescatarian for decades.
I didn’t understand my son’s “Are animals in candy?” question until he clarified “…you know, when pigs are turned into candy?” And then I understood exactly why/where/when/what was being asked.
The day of the US presidential election, my Facebook world was abuzz with guarded, but giddy, optimism. People feeling good, joining Pantsuit Nation, photographing themselves voting with their kids and grandparents, and placing their “I voted” stickers on Susan B. Anthony’s grave.
doesn’t didn’t used to phase me. I even welcomed because it brings adventure and rewards. But relocating to Paris had me flailing.
Ouch! This would be hysterical if it didn’t ring so painfully true! Some of its clever quips are rooted in
too-true stereotypes, but some are indisputable: unequal pay and lack of unpaid maternity leave are the status quo.
While pregnant, I’d heard that for a brief few months after becoming a parent, I might be in denial that anything had changed. And I found that to be true. However, that little while stretched into 2+ years.