Literary Mama writing about the many faces of motherhood

I’m not a Virgo, but I was born close enough to the cusp to love making lists, and the turn of a new year is prime list-making season. Each January 1st, I sit down and pen not only resolutions but …

Mother braved the ward with a bag of blue plums / while you ran to ground like a hunted fox. // Blood pulsed in dark flanks over far fields, / a mess of costive roots, the sky sweating salty rain. // I could eat no plum, nor any stone fruit.

I’d read all the pregnancy books, humorous and practical alike, but none of them really prepared me for that moment. Instead, it was the desolate landscapes of Cormac McCarthy’s fiction—which I hadn’t read before my pregnancy, and haven’t enjoyed since—that gave me a framework for my predicament.

His standing barefoot on my doorstep / on a ten-degree day in the middle / of a Kansas winter is what made me forget / boundaries or calling cops, therapists, // or social workers and opt instead / to give up the couch to my otherwise / homeless son.

It is okay to take decisive steps in creating a life filled with joy.

A week after the taco fiasco, Ethan moved out; that had been one of their last family dinners.

Before she goes, she will make a list. Two lists, actually. The first list, to help her keep her courage, will be a list of reasons that they will be better off without her.

Even before we conceived, I was no stranger to the grim side of pop culture.

If you're a writer, this month's Essential Reading post is a must as we recommend four great books about honing your craft.

We two, / mother and child, bobbed in an eddy outside the current / of conversation.

I huff into her room, hackles / raised, determined / to confiscate that damned device, but / she smiles, pats her bed.

Mother braved the ward with a bag of blue plums / while you ran to ground like a hunted fox.

I couldn't afford / to get out, he couldn't get straight, / but for that night I could pretend...

Will there ever be a day when winter boots / seem ridiculous? When warmth and light return forever?

I don't know how to write any way other than really honest and open.

This book is as much a story of one woman's quest to understand what happened to her as it is to understand what has happened to all of us.

Parenthood can't save us. In trying to assuage one fear, the author discovers others.