Category Archives: Gretchen

Yes, I noticed your passive-aggressive jab, perfect stranger

By Gretchen The zoo is the Roman Coliseum of mothering, where strollers are skillfully jockeyed for prime penguin viewing spots and picnic lunches are compared. We go a lot. A family membership pays for itself in one visit when you have seven children, so I think of our local zoo as an elaborate park. There…

It’s better to have Love’s Baby Soft lost than never had it at all

By Gretchen “Mom, can you smell this?” Aidan offered her wrist, not knowing I could smell this before she entered the room. Her milk-white broomstick of a wrist dripped American Girl perfume, sugary and light. The petal pink star-shaped bottle of perfume had been a Christmas present from me, bought in a fit of nostalgia….

My vanity, my child

By Gretchen My five-year-old son has a very small cosmetic flaw. One of his upper center baby teeth is coffee brown. He’d prefer to call it chocolate or even dirt. When I consider the little sliver of trouble in his sweet mouth, I can’t help but think of a careless stain on the front of…

I landed on the Bad Mom space

By Gretchen My children do not know how to play Monopoly. I never thought of this as a mothering failure until yesterday. Monopoly is a tiresome game which always lasts about 42 minutes longer than it should. The most exciting part is deciding between being the boot or the terrier and it goes downhill from…

He’s No Babysitter, He’s Their Father

By Gretchen My husband travels for work occasionally. Usually, these trips take him 2,000 miles away from home, for about a week. He attends meetings, training sessions, and social gatherings. He braves the airports and hotel breakfast bars. He probably has dozens of interactions every day with co-workers and travel industry employees. I bet he’s…

Smoke Gets In Your Social-Pariah Eyes

By Gretchen Smokers are an ash-flick away from serial killers. When friends, aquaintances, and readers find out I am an ex-smoker, they usually say things like, “But you are so nice!” Yes. You should have known me when I was a smoker! Jaywalking! Taking an extra brownie! Waiting until March to do my taxes! I…

Nothing Good Happens After Midnight

By Gretchen “Mom? Mom?” A twelve-year-old boy gently shook his sleeping mother’s shoulder. After twisting in the sheets and mumbling protests, she turned to look at the bedside clock. 2:30 am. “What is it?” she groaned, wondering if one of the sleepover guests spilled something on the basement carpet. “We’re taking the last three rolls…