Dear Hormones… There’s a major disconnect between you, my brain and my body. I’m talking about a Chernobyl meltdown caliber of dysfunction. Can we talk about the number seven? Seven is an interesting number. It’s a pretty small quantity if we’re talking about how many spoons might reside in a kitchen, but it’s an overwhelmingly large number when applied to children in a family. Seven is huge. We only have five at home now, but the nest is by no (...Read More)

Now, y’all without sin go ahead and throw that first stone… I come from a small town. (Cue John Mellencamp music.) It’s a great place to live, if you like majestic mountains, winning sports teams, and knowing your neighbors. If, however, you’re an outsider—and act like one—you’re liable to find yourself on the wrong side of an angry mob, and that’s just what happened to my local newspaper editor. Mr. Editor has a habit of evoking strong emotions from the (...Read More)

Me? I like a challenge. However, the back-to-school hubbub is a bit overwhelming. With four students this year (sorry, college student offspring – you’ll have to figure your own stuff out), I am, in equal parts, dreading and looking forward to crossing off my list the following red-letter dates: SOMETIME BEFORE SEPTEMBER 1: Make appointments for sports physicals and immunizations. Celebrate that a summer of sitting around the pool hasn’t resulted in muscular atrophy or brain-eating amoeba infestation. Shell out (...Read More)

Wright family events are not small gatherings. Mr. Wright is the fourth of five children, and he and his siblings, along with their respective spouses, have produced for his parents 22 grandchildren and seven great-grandchildren—so far. Throw in the far-flung cousins and their kids, and any congregation site qualifies for its own congressional district. When we all flood into my in-laws’ condo for a week during the summer, we may or may not be pushing the limits of the fire (...Read More)

I’ve become my mother. It’s an unexpected transformation, and it didn’t happen overnight, but looking back, the warning signs were clear. The first time the words, “I hope you have a daughter just like you, someday,” escaped my lips in response to a defiant teen daughter, I probably should have enrolled in an intervention program, but denial runs deep for this mama. My mother is a great word economist. Growing up (and as lately as last week), I experienced no (...Read More)