Spring Break has taken a strange and gloomy turn this year. Already our plans lacked that shimmering promise spring vacation can hold; we weren’t going anywhere, and Patrick had to work. But then as though to ensure we wouldn’t even …

At 11 a.m., the playground is already half full of youngsters, my barefoot and sleeveless Cleo among them. She mucks about in the sand while her big sister Zoë sits demurely on the grass reading, and I slouch on the …

“I can’t wear this.” I stare at the pretty new pink and black gymnastics suit eight-year-old Zoë is holding, take a breath, and silently count to five. “I need sleeves. Please? I have to have sleeves.” I let out the …

“Earthquake weather,” says an elderly woman on the bus, leaning forward to speak to the driver. Four-year-old Cleo and I have just dropped my 20-year-old Honda Civic at Art’s Automotive, and our bus home slowly huffs up the steep, twisting …

We rent. Most of our friends own. And sometimes I think one quarter of my brain power is dedicated to agonizing over whether, when, or how to buy a house. It’s the topic all casual conversation eventually devolves into sooner …

It’s 6 a.m., and the fog is just lifting as I step into my Berkeley back garden. I have one hour to myself before the kids get up. Whenever I’m here alone, I feel close to Ma. I remember watching …