Life had a calm empty-nest rhythm. Then, this spring, everything changed. We had not planned to shelter together with our grown children. The idea was that my 21-year daughter and her boyfriend would come here for two weeks until their college classes resumed. But classes never did resume; they morphed into virtual classes, and Anna and Ben morphed into semi-permanent residents. My 23-year-old daughter, Julia, certainly did not plan to shelter together. She had moved to Chic

Nine years ago, my daughter’s friend was bullied in the playground. It started out as a joke, a quirky game. As the “game” progressed, maybe some kids still thought it was a joke. But the “joke” culminated with this child being restrained on the ground by three children, trying to force grass into the victim’s mouth. My daughter Anna threw herself right into the mix. She shouted, “Stop that!” repeatedly. Anna dropped to the ground and pushed the other kids away, asking “What

I used to love P.D. Eastman’s book, Are You My Mother? The story was about a baby bird whose mother was nowhere to be found when he hatched. The baby bird wandered about, lost and alone, in search of his mommy. He hopped everywhere, asking all the animals, “Are you my mother?” The dog answered “No”. The cow answered “No”. The baby bird kept on, asking every creature if they were his mother, until he finally found his mother again. I identified with that baby bird. In the begi

I still remember my daughter’s third grade teacher conference, although it happened over a decade ago. Ms. P. and I squatted on the miniature desk chairs, which were laughably too small for us. Awkwardly, we hunched over a table, peering at Anna’s school work, drawings, and test results. Ms. P. glowed as she discussed Anna’s work ethic, social skills, and behavior. Apparently, Anna even gave her backrubs when Ms. P. was having a bad day. “How is Anna doing?” asked my husband

Do you remember being a teenager? Do you remember what you were like, and the things that you did? Your memories might help you be a better parent. Let me explain. I was 15 when we lived in Oyster Bay, a small town nestled in a cove on the Long Island Sound of New York. After class, we would walk to the beach, and hang out for a while before heading home. One day, I borrowed a small Sunfish with my best friend, Iris. She was brilliant, an honors student like me. Also like me,

My oldest daughter, Julia, graduated from college this weekend. My work as her mother is not fully finished, but surely this graduation marks a major crossroads. She is 22, a fully-formed adult, and now a college graduate. I birthed her, fed her, raised her, taught her, protected her, and paid endlessly for her. My work is now…done? Julia burst into my life like thunder. The first thing I witnessed was her beauty, her tiny features perfectly symmetrical. The second thing I sa

I messed up this week. I said something stupid to my daughter. At the time, I thought I had to help her by giving her my opinion, even though I knew she didn’t want it. In an anxious spasm, I blurted out criticism, just when she was acutely vulnerable. She stared at me, mouth agape, and fled . She wouldn’t speak to me for days. I was moody and upset for days as well. I felt defensive, like I wanted to explain myself and justify why I wasn’t so wrong. I felt misunderstood. I f