Haugh About That?: The tears of a mother

As I walked into the family room, my heart stopped beating. There, in the middle of my new beige carpet, stood my 1-year-old daughter, Lauren, in a puddle of blue paint, smiling brightly. Instantly, my eyes began to sting with the tears that would soon come. We’d saved five years for that new flooring, and now it was ruined. Oh, the joys of being a parent.

Over the past 37 years, the one thing I’ve gotten really good at is crying when it comes to my four kids. It all began when I found out I was pregnant with Michelle. Having been told I may never have children after a miscarriage early in my marriage, you can imagine my ecstasy. Then, nine months later, blood-curdling wails rattled the hospital walls as I delivered her the old-fashioned way, sans drugs. No epidural or oral medication to ease the pain, just a stick between my teeth and Lamaze breathing. Crazy, I know, but back in the early ’80s, I took my new role as Mother Earth seriously. Jenni would soon follow, and my tears of joy became deeply profound.


The Villaj Idiut: Altering the gene pool

You know how, every once in a while, you get that really deep question from somebody at a party: Which figure in history would you most like to meet?

I always have my answer ready for that doozy: Marco Polo.

Haugh About That?: Love you through it

As I walked into the cafeteria that warm October day in 1969, I noticed my Mercy High School besties huddled at a corner table. There was nothing unusual about this scene, for this is where we juniors congregated every day. Then, suddenly, I froze. By the sheepish grins on their faces as they quickly turned away, I sensed the topic of conversation was me.

“Did I do something wrong?” I asked the group, slowly approaching.

A Piece of My Mind: Thoughts of those who serve

My husband is something of a connoisseur of National Memorials, having been born and raised in Gettysburg, Pa. So on our recent visit to Hawaii, we fulfilled his long-held wish to visit the USS Arizona Memorial in Pearl Harbor.

The Villaj Idiut: I'm not sold

There are a few professions out there where it’s very difficult to separate the individual person from the job.

No Shoes, Please: Popcorn and cherry blossoms

I went to Japan this month with my mother and two nieces. It was my fourth trip to Japan, my first ever to see cherry blossoms in full bloom, and by extension my first experience with the nation’s excitement over these delicate, ephemeral trees.

A Piece of My Mind: Seller's angst

Much has been written about the difficulties of would-be home buyers in Silicon Valley. But what about the angst of sellers?

Preparing my mother’s house for sale was like getting an aging movie star ready for her close-up. It’s an older home in a perfectly splendid location – at the end of a cul-de-sac, on a low-traffic street, backed by a natural creek, with a majestic heritage oak tree sheltering a spacious patio in back and other mature oaks and pines in the front yard. The landscaping is low maintenance, and the flower beds are bursting with bulbs.


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