I’m done having babies. At least, I think I am. My kids are now nine and six years old respectively, in fourth and first grades, and I am home all day alone. I am free to write full-time — essays, …

My husband, Mike, looks at me and says bluntly, “You know this is a mistake.” The cashier hands Mike his credit-card receipt, and my husband signs his name on the line. I look down at the eight-week-old baby cradled in …

“You’re out of balance,” the chiropractor tells me after reviewing my x-rays and going over my symptoms. “But I think I can help you.” I look at the motivational poster behind her head that reads, “Health is not merely the …

It is just after 5 p.m. on Friday, and I am at my usual post — the spectator’s balcony at my children’s gymnastics classes. Up top, the moms and dads sit with their crumpled newspapers or magazines, munching on sugar …

rosie blogs just like me she writes in odd verse without punctuation or editing for typos or grammar spewing random thoughts like a hyped-up toddler with multiple personalities or attention deficit sometimes switching between several topics as disparate as the …

On paper, government paper, I barely exist. My Social Security statements show the gaping hole in my employment history. I have not brought in a regular salary for almost a decade. I have nothing squirreled away in my own Social …