50 Something Moms

The writers’ foundation I belong to had a table at the arts council fair this last weekend and, since I am a board member now, I spent a few hours of my Sunday handing out brochures and answering questions there. Mostly though I chatted with the foundation’s new president because writing is not a visual art and we sort of got lost amid the quilts. sculptures, painters and cloggers.

Leah is a teacher at the French immersion school in a nearby town. Single mom with a young teen, her life is familiarly hectic. I lived it once for a time in between husbands, but before marriage and children were even a remote possibility, I was the epitome of the single working girl. My life revolved around my career and my hobbies and interests. I was independent and self-sufficient in every way. In truth, more of my adult life has been spent with me as the sole breadwinner than not and even after I married for the first time, I was still the chief hunter-gatherer.

As we talked, Leah became aware of the dilemma I continue to have where it comes to work. My husband, Rob, has a job that allows me to stay home with our six year old and for the first time in my life concentrate on my writing. But writing and teaching are competing passions and coupled with the unease I feel about not dragging home pig meat for the family larder, I go back and forth about returning to teaching.

“I hate to tell you this,” she said, “because you really are a great writer, but teaching is your passion.” Read Full Article

Back in the day when I toiled for the privilege of having good health insurance, I made it my mission to have a female physician or nurse practitioner for myself and then later for my daughter. And it was a completely sexist thing on my part born out of years of experience. If I wanted to be heard and be considered a partner in maintaining my own health, female medical personnel had proven themselves superior. Read Full Article

If you have a few minutes, check out my pieces over at 50 something. First one is me-centric and the latter about reading troubles BabyD is having that are, frankly, scaring the shit out of me because they remind me of things I went through with her Dad as he slowly lost his mind to his illness. Despite the constant reassurances I get about her relative immunity to succumbing to the same illness Will had, I can’t shake the terror when similar things – completely normal for her age – crop up.  These things still render me irrational.*


*So much so that I again managed to offend someone.