So, the “twin thing” really is a thing. It starts in the womb. When I first found out I was having twins, I felt them ganging up almost immediately. They kicked and slept and hiccupped in tandem. When they made their debut, I am fairly sure they negotiated a crying cycle that shouldered out even a minute of silence. I gave thanks that they were not identical, that I had a boy and a girl …

March is cerebral palsy awareness month. Would I have known this if my child did not have cerebral palsy? Probably not. Would I be wearing a green ribbon and thinking not of leprechauns and Mardi Gras and Easter, but instead of this diagnosis? Probably not. But because my son does have cerebral palsy and because it is the thing I must write on every medical and financial and government form, I do know what March …

“I don’t want you. I don’t want you. I don’t want you.” It’s the phrase we fear in the deepest darkest pit of our psyches where junior high dates and first periods go to die. It’s the phrase that spills angst all over our best laid plans for autonomy. Now put that on repeat and blast it on your biggest 80s boom box and you’ve got a sense of my current mental state. No woman …

As a kid, I loved the snow—the wet magic of it that made the world brighter and cleaner and got me out of school. When you finally trudged in, it made hot chocolate that much sweeter and the house that much warmer and the snowman in the front yard that much more awesome when everything else melted and still he remained, a stoic companion. But as a parent, my view of snow gets more complicated. …

It is 3:37 a.m. and I am holding my five-year-old in my lap in the dark of the living room. He is shirtless and shaking. His birdwing shoulder blades rub together when he signs “more” to my tuneless song. It is Paul Simon, “Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes,” in the off key of half sleep. But it makes him smile, which is all I need at the moment to keep me from dialing …

Valentine’s Day is truly the perfect kid holiday. You’re not old enough to be jaded by the “most romantic day of the year” and you get piles of candy and actual mail. It’s cold out but you don’t care because you’re all sugared up and shuffling through candy like a blackjack dealer. Consider these 11 lovely books on love the nightcap to your Valentine’s Day. Snoring Beauty by Sudipta Bardhan-Quallen Fractured fairytales are the best. …

Something about those candy hearts made language accessible for him in a way that flashcards and his fancy speaking device never could. With the hearts under his hands, he made yellow and green and pink and blue messages that the world could understand. This is why Valentine’s Day will always be sacred to us. This is why I’m sharing my story on Scary Mommy. Click the picture below to read.

HEBREWS 4:12 12 For the word of God is alive and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart. There is a scene in the film, The Usual Suspects, which, so as not to spoil the whole thing, I will only describe as an epically clever con man film. In this scene, the main character is being interrogated by a detective …

I just read an article on why chocolate is good for me. Correction. I just read another article on why chocolate is good for me. Because you don’t have to try very hard to find commentary on chocolate’s antioxidant powers and its ability to lower cholesterol and blood pressure and improve memory and stave off cancer and all the other countless things that make chocolate a serious superfood. Google will always offer up articles with …

“Do you want breadsticks?” “What?” I said and leaned half my body over the counter. “Do you want breadsticks!” he yelled. I was in the mall, standing under the neon Sbarro sign at dinnertime rush hour. The cashier, a teen in plastic gloves and a hairnet, looked desperate. I finally nodded “yes” because who doesn’t want breadsticks? Behind me, my family continued to howl. I don’t mean howling in a metaphorical sense. My husband, five-year-old …