I don’t like being a homemaker, whatever that is. I am not a housewife, I can’t fold a fitted sheet and I massacre the grocery budgets. Stay-at-home mom is a complete misnomer, I am never home. There really isn’t a simple title for “I made a difficult choice to quit my career. A choice that challenges me to stand up for something I believe in, something I decided to do eight years ago, raise children who spend more time with me than with the nanny.”
Unbeatable: Notre Dame’s 1988 Championship and the Last Great College Football
Welcome to Molarity Redux, the 49th strip in the updated, continuing adventures of Jim Mole and friends. Upon a return to campus, the sunny, summery days are fleeting.
I fumbled in my backpack for my stethoscope, draping it around my neck even though I had no intention of examining a patient while waiting in line — the stethoscope commands access to all sorts of places that I wouldn’t normally be welcomed in.
Gone fishing. In Maraya Steadman’s absence this summer, please enjoy one of her retro columns, first published in September 2009.
Baseball is still, to me, a game of fathers and sons, of boyhood dreams and human heroes. Those are the stories I read; those are the players I choose for my fantasy team.
The only thing harder to find than a way out of jail is American blue jeans.
If Bezos can bring his golden touch to the Post, many other publishers will launch the same strategies. If he fails, the others will certainly be no better off — in fact pessimism may reign — but they’ll suffer no direct hits.
In terms of failing to provide poor citizens affordable health care, Florida is similar to Haiti, and probably worse than Rwanda.
I really should have known better. It was foolish of me. But the day’s yard work was done and I wanted to protect the kids and I vowed to shower right away. I’d had some good luck in recent years with a skin wash to stop it. I’d be fine.
Dear People I Would Very Much Like To Hire Me…
It’s late summer so we are doing summer things, like going to art fairs when its 90 degrees outside. There is no dad in America who thinks this is a good idea.
In my various travels as a baseball fan, which have taken me from Angel Stadium of Anaheim to the new Yankee Stadium and a good number of stadiums in between, I’ve never found a baseball experience that more fully lives up to its hype than Wrigley Field in Chicago.