Mary's stuff
I couldn’t wait to meet our son. As he came, there was a lot on my mind—the pain, the thought of meeting my son, wondering what my daughter would think, hoping the birth went well and that he would be heal
There’s a picture hanging on the wall at my parents’ house—it’s a beautifully ornate wedding certificate that makes mine look like a piece of trash (no seriously—mine looks a piece of paper
My daughter’s currently obsessed with the movie “The Boss Baby” (or “Mean Baby” as she puts it). At one point in the film, Tim—the seven-year-old who’s feeling the squeeze of
When I first moved back to the United States after living abroad, I worked at the local Dairy Queen to make ends meet while my husband and I worked through the immigration process. During a particularly busy Saturday aft
A few weeks ago, I wrote a piece imploring my fellow Americans to—if we truly want to protect our children—do three things in the wake of the Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School shooting: Sto
“You’re either with us or against us,” said one student attending the anti-gun rally in Tallahassee this week. Today, as one wise relative recently expressed to me, "the opinions/biases of
Those of you who have read my work for any period of time know the lengths my husband and I had to go through to be together here in the United States. Piles of paperwork; thousands of dollars; months of separation&
Back in college, I took an Art History course that I largely enjoyed…except for the mandatory field trip to the area modern art museum. It’s just not my cup of tea; I’ll take Monet over Warhol any day&
I did something the other day that I routinely criticize others for doing. I reacted to a video emotionally, with zero context, zero insight, and zero research. I watched the officer-involved shooting of Daniel Shaver
I remember being about eight years old, and the movie of the year was Pocahontas. When Halloween rolled around that year—well, you can guess what I wanted to be. I begged my mom for the costume, and she made time a
Pregnancy’s a real trip. The heartburn, the aches, the pains, the sleepless nights—it’s a real carnival. One of these sleepless nights this past week, as I was flipping through my phone at 3 am, wish
A few weeks ago my family and I were out at a small-town festival when suddenly an elderly woman in a motorized wheelchair took a tumble over the side of a street curb. Within seconds she was surrounded by people. A coup
