“Excuse me, ma’am?” a teenager invades my deep thoughts as I stand stewing over what brand of canned black beans will provide the best nutritional bang for the buck. Organic or not?
In my BC (”before children”) days when I was still a full-time working girl, I was on the staff of a regional women’s publication that was decidedly left-leaning.
Recently, I had the rare opportunity to go to the grocery store toting only the baby. She was a happy, wiggly little thing, and I quite enjoyed our visit as well as her many admirers.
It’s still dark outside. I’ve just nursed the baby and I should be in bed, trying to squeeze in a few more minutes of sleep before my older children wake me up. Instead I sneak into my bathroom and step on the scale with trepidation.
There have been times in my life when my faith overwhelms me. Some days I can look at a Crucifix and feel so close to Christ
I still remember the time I first really felt called to be a mother. I was sitting on a subway reading Mother Teresa’s A Simple Path.
So I was sitting on my bed, laptop perched on my lap to accommodate my burgeoning belly and obediently doing my Kegels.
I recently had plans to go to weekday Mass. My good intentions were nearly thwarted.
I’ve always loved the Advent season, but this time of year has become even more exciting since having children. My oldest daughter Madeline just turned 4 and is very eager to partake in all of the holiday preparations.
The other day I was in a cramped public bathroom stall supervising my preschooler’s potty business when I met a new friend.
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