Are We There Yet?
(Note: This column ran in the June 10, 2014 edition of The News-Gazette.)
Every wedding has those unforgettable moments — the walk down the aisle, the first dance, the low-speed car chase.
Twenty years ago this month, as my husband and I prepared to pledge our lifetime vows, our wedding party was riveted by a fugitive in a white Bronco.
For the most part, I am the handyperson in our family, but tools are not always my friend.
I like home projects. I have even completed some, with help from family and friends.
Others, not so much. Take the recent toilet-seat conundrum.
My mom recently went through a major life transition, and it’s sparked lots of memories and reflection. Mostly about time passing and all the chances I missed to tell her what she means to me.
She’s definitely not the type to seek the spotlight, and she’d probably try to stop me from writing this if she had the chance.
Crissy Grenier knew something was different about her firstborn by the time he was 6 months old.
Owen didn’t like to be held or played with. He wasn’t interested in people’s faces. He was a terrible sleeper and had “constant” ear infections.
I ran into a friend the other day with her 6-year-old, who had just celebrated her birthday with a long-awaited party. I asked how it went.
“It was fun,” the 6-year-old said, “but we didn’t get to do everything on the schedule.”
Flashback to my daughter’s sixth birthday party.