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May 29 2013

The Story of a Pretty Dress & A Creepy Guy

By at 7:01 pm

sarah tuttle-singer dressI bought a dress last week.

It’s a dress straight out of the summer of ’53–pale mauve with a sweetheart neckline, spaghetti straps, and a skirt that twirls. It’s the kind of dress you lose your virginity in in the backseat of a Chevy Bel Air after the Hop.

It’s also the also the kind of dress you wear when you get tired of keeping it real in blue jeans and a tank top, when you want to rub coconut vanilla lotion on your legs and feel like you’re stepping into another era, another life.

It’s the kind of dress you wear when you want to feel pretty, oh so pretty. (Tralalalalalalalalala.) Read the rest of this entry →

Dec 26 2012

Welcome to Oversharers Not-So-Anonymous

By at 9:36 am

Too much?

I am that mom.

If you have a Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, or a blog, you know the kind of mom I’m talking about. The one whose posts constantly contain some halfway funny anecdote about her children. Whose photo albums are so filled up with pictures of a day-by-day documentation of their little ones that you have to scroll through 100 different images of Junior covered in food to find one of her. Status updates, links to news stories, pictures of messy faces, smiling faces, crying faces, all of it stares out at you from your newsfeed as one giant example of what is annoying and over the top.

Yep. That’s me. Annoying and over the top. Read the rest of this entry →

Dec 19 2012

On Raising Resilient Kids

By at 10:55 am

The fear can sometimes be so intense that it feels nearly unbearable.

True, being a parent brings with it unparalleled joy, fulfillment and, of course, exhaustion, but the knowledge that our primary responsibility in this world is to keep our children safe is almost too much to handle; it is both an incomparable responsibility and incomparably fear-inducing.

We need to keep our kids safe from choking while nibbling their first soggy Cheerio. We need to keep them safe in the bath, even when the water is no higher than their chubby thighs. In the car we strap them in. On the playground we call out “slow down!”¬†We try to protect them from the wind on their chapped cheeks, from the rash on their tush, from the concrete as they learn to walk, and run, and bike. Read the rest of this entry →


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