Once a week, my three kids dress themselves in layers for wick/warmth/weather, pack extra socks and gloves, and I drive them to forest school.
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It’s Saturday. I have arranged for my daughter to have a friend over. By text, Chloe’s mom and I have agreed that Chloe will come to our house at 1:00 pm.
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“Operation Heather X.” That’s what it was called. It was nearly thirty years ago when my friends devised a plan, complete with code name, to exclude me.
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I swear, if one more study mom shames me for my picky eaters my head might explode.
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A few weeks ago my husband returned late from picking up our two children from school, their return quiet and hushed.
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by:
As we heard my name called from the podium, my mom and I shared a look across the crowded middle-school auditorium. I’d won an art award, and it was hilarious.
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