Memoir Archives - Page 16 of 18

The accidental, honey-fied catching of a fly

by Robin | Dec 30, 2011 | Advice, Exercise in Frustration, Family, Kids, Life Philosophy, Life with boys, Memoir, Mom stuff, Parenting, Teens & Tweens

I almost titled this the Taming of the Shrew…. Read on. You'll understand. * * * * * Company was coming in hours and he was giving up his room for their visit. Not because he volunteered, but because we told him so. Out of four,...

The paradox of my father’s bedside manner

by Robin | Nov 30, 2011 | Health, Memoir, Nostalgia

The way my father expressed TLC sometimes tilted toward the rough and gruff, but there was no mistaking it as Love In Action; and it provided substance for some of my earliest childhood memories. Sometimes I think there's something wrong with me, though: my...

The care and keeping of imagination

by Robin | Nov 29, 2011 | Memoir

“'Sometimes,' said Pooh, 'the smallest things take up the most room in your heart.'" said Pooh. ~ A.A. Milne My children are taller than me. The laundry room door looms as reminder. I look up into their eyes and remember when they...

The snake who sleeps with fishes: a coming of age memoir

by Robin | Oct 31, 2011 | Animals, Kids, Life with boys, Memoir, Mom stuff, Nature, Nostalgia, Personal, Teens & Tweens

"There's a snake in my boots." ~ Woody, Toy Story It didn't matter if it was 90 degrees in the shade and a thousand percent humidity, he'd paint on his Wranglers and cram his feet into miniature Tony Lama's. Cowboys don't...

Scars and redemption

by Robin | Mar 14, 2011 | Breast Cancer, Cancer is NOT okay!, Inspiring, Memoir, Mom stuff, Mothers and daughters, Personal

I remember seeing her scars one time. Only once. A body disfigured by diseased malevolence, a thief whose plunder demanded dignity and femininity and time…and eventually hope and life. It's a scant memory, a fleeting, vapored ghost, which I...

Traces

by Robin | Mar 2, 2011 | Memoir, Mom stuff

It started with a blustery day. Blustery days remind me of Winnie the Pooh, childhood comfort reading as satisfying to the soul as pot pie to the lips–tubby-little cubby-all-stuffed-with-fluff and all. Cross-legged on the floor with the book in my...