Because of me, my granddaughter almost loses a couple of fingers.
We’re driving down a typical New England country road, bracketed with August-green swaying trees. Hawks swing on the tops of those trees, squawking loudly.
To our right is an almost-hidden river where kayakers slowly swing their oars. To our left is dense wood filled with squirrels and woodchucks and chirping sparrows.
“Madre, watch out!” Sophie yells. I ram my foot on the brake. Continue reading
Ten years ago, I never would have imagined myself in this situation.
“I won!” he says to me now. “Come on, can’t you do better?”
I grit my teeth. I’ve never been good at this kind of thing. Even as a young girl I never attempted it. Continue reading
“One of my first memories occurred when I was a three-year-old, sitting on my aunt’s lap.
“Excuse me,” I said politely.
She laughed so hard I bounced out of her seat. I was offended. Isn’t that what I was supposed to say? Continue reading
I want to beat him in cards so badly.
He thinks he’s a master, maybe even a genius at this “game.”
But, he can be arrogant as hell about his card-playing prowess, so I fortify myself before he arrives.
Caffeine first. Our time for cards is usually after 3, so I’m already caffeinated out with my three cups of tea. But this is a serious competition, so I bring out the big guns. Continue reading
I seem to embarrass my children regularly.
This was an easy feat when they were young, like, you know, anytime between the ages of 11 and 19.
At five, our kids think we’re heroes.
At 15, we’re idiots.
But in theory, my kids should be too old for me to embarrass.
I’ve discovered this theory is incorrect. Continue reading