Old School Posts

• IKA

  No, I did not misspell IKEA. I would never do that. I meant to write those three letters I-K-A. Because "ika" is my own made-up word. And it is code for another decidedly naughty four-letter word that begins with F that I am no longer allowed to utter because I am a parent. But "ika?" That's fin

• A Good Parent

  A month or so ago, something happened. Toddler and I were relaxing on the couch watching one of her shows. I can't remember which one. And because I'm not a huge fan of Jungle Junction or Max & Ruby or whatever it is "we" were watching, I watched my little girl instead. I noted the sliver of

• Walk Away

  Living life entails walking away from things. Each and every one of us has left something or someone behind. Sometimes, these departures are heart-breaking. Sometimes, these departures are liberating. Very often, these departures are more cloudy in character and fall somewhere in between. How

• Where I've Been (Part Three: The Beach)

  After the woods and the farm, we headed to our final destination: Cape Cod. There, we caught up with Husband's family and frolicked. In the salt water, sun and sand. The weather was on the warm side, but never strayed from pleasant. Not too shabby. Not too shabby at all. Brave as ever, To

• Island Living

  I need your advice. Your thoughts. Your take. What do you do when you see that sheen of sadness in the eyes of someone you encounter or know or love? What do you do when pain is palpable through a shifting glance or a strained smile? What do you do when faced with a cracked voice and cryptic

• The Things We Can't Say

  There are things we can't say. Here. There. Anywhere. There are things we can't say. To our readers. To our writers. To ourselves. There are things that are too hazy, too hard, too hurtful. There are things that are too terrible, too tangled, too true. There are things that are too m

• Redefining Rush Hour

  Rush hour. A time of transition and traffic. A smothering storm where flurries of frustration whip about in cold air, making pretty faces ugly and smooth skin wrinkle. Rush hour. A necessary beast. The blurry bridge between home and work. Between happiness and worry. (As if these things can r

• What Have I Done Wrong?

  Ensconced in the privacy of my home, I am very good at convincing myself of certain things. One such thing? That toddlers are an inscrutable species, that they will do as they please and then one day morph into polite and decorous little people. I tell myself that toddlers are inherently poor eater

• Pathetiquette

  CONFESSION: I am not good at writing thank you notes. In fact, I'm pretty bad at it. Growing up, I never wrote them. On Christmas morning, I would sit there in my parents' living room, amid a swirl of sisters and ribbons, clutching a tiny pad, pen cocked, ready to record all the gifts I got.

• Insecurely Yours

  "Letter writing is the only device for combining solitude with good company." - Lord Byron. Dear ILI readers, As you read this, I am likely doing any of the following things: 1. Sitting in the backseat of a taxi en route to LaGuardia Airport sandwiched between two carseats holding two gir