WriteRunRead Blog

Every December, my father asks, “Would you mind taking a plant or two for us while we’re in Florida?” “No, of course not. I love plants.” My parents have spent the “winter” in Florida for the past several years, first spending January and February there, then increasing their stays through April and then May. One year they left New York in September! With each departure, I gain at least one plant. The interesting bargain is – they never take them back. When my parents return to New York for the warmer months, they don’t ask for the plants I cared for and watered throughout our cold season. The subject hardly comes up – unless I point out how one plant (a thriving Jade) is flourishing on my kitchen windowsill. When I visit them at their home in New York during the summer, I notice new blossoms in new pots at the kitchen window and some on the deck. Where did these come from, I think. Then, are they my next adoptees? Yes, in fact most are. My dad manages to pawn off ...

In less than one month, my son will be driving – on his own. I facilitated his enrollment in a driver’s education class early last January, to ensure that come December, he would be ready to drive. I also made sure that he took his road test early enough (in September) to allow for extra time should he need to take it again before turning 17. Now that the day is fast approaching, whom do I have to blame for coordinating the moment he sits behind the wheel and drives away, by himself?   ME.   Yes, that’s right. I’ve been his “right-hand” mom throughout his ever-changing 17 years. You could say that I have been the driver and passenger throughout this uncharted journey, as he traveled from infancy into toddlerhood, childhood and now young adulthood. Many parents I know do the same thing: hurriedly move their kids along to the next big adventure as efficiently, and as soon as practically possible. We were quick to sign them up for activities and challenges, often before ...

Close to the end of eighth grade, my son came home from school to tell me he heard about a “research” program offered by the high school, that students could start taking in ninth grade.   High school faculty gave the middle school kids an overview of the kinds of classes that would be available to them once they graduated from eighth grade.   My son thought it sounded interesting.   So did I.   With that news, I started asking other moms of older kids what this research class was all about.   I heard a bunch of things: it’s challenging, difficult, a lot of work, intense, and then the news I had been subconsciously waiting for: it looks great on a college application.   Yes, that excited and motivated me.   I encouraged my son to take the class.   Sure, he expressed an initial interest in it, but I certainly grabbed hold of the idea and ran with it.   As he completes his second year in the program, from what I can see, it has been all of...

I was walking my dog yesterday.   It was very windy, exceptionally windy.   Wickedly windy.   As I walked onto, into my driveway and approached my car, the walkway, those familiar surroundings that indicate you have returned home, I heard a cracking sound. It wasn’t familiar; it was the cracking of some kind of death.   The cracking was getting louder and louder and ominous and, well, just scary.   As I heard what seemed to be too loud of a crack, a splitting, a separation of life from limb, I looked up in the direction of that earthly and otherworldly noise. I heard the last bit of cracking, as it got even louder, and saw a giant tree trunk separating from its body, the main trunk, its “supporter” and partner and well, it’s rock – or wood in this case.   And it started falling, gracefully, quietly, after all that cracking, it was so quiet.   But it was falling toward my dog and me.   I wasn’t sure what I was seeing was really happening. But ...

I was walking my dog yesterday.   It was very windy, exceptionally windy.   Wickedly windy.   As I walked onto, into my driveway and approached my car, the walkway, those familiar surroundings that indicate you have returned home, I heard a cracking sound. It wasn’t familiar; it was the cracking of some kind of death.   The cracking was getting louder and louder and ominous and, well, just scary.   As I heard what seemed to be too loud of a crack, a splitting, a separation of life from limb, I looked up in the direction of that earthly and otherworldly noise. I heard the last bit of cracking, as it got even louder, and saw a giant tree trunk separating from its body, the main trunk, its “supporter” and partner and well, it’s rock – or wood in this case.   And it started falling, gracefully, quietly, after all that cracking, it was so quiet.   But it was falling toward my dog and me.   I wasn’t sure what I was seeing was really happening. But ...