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To celebrate the one year anniversary of our move from New York City to Rockland, Dan and I decided to unpack the designated non-essentials that had been stowed in boxes in a $250 per month storage space and then transported practically by circus train to our new and fabulous suburban garage. My job was to go through the...

Dear Adolescence,
 
I spent years waiting for you. Even as my daughter suckled at my breast, or slipped her warm little hand in mine as we crossed the street, I knew she was under your curse. I'd heard you mutter it when she was born. I knew that even if I dedicated my entire life to burning every single spinning...

There is a thin layer of dirt on my car--not a detail that four years ago I would have noticed. But today I have to work hard to not think about it, to resist taking a hose and getting it off. It isn't my child, after all, with a layer of dirt and germs on his hands and face that could spread to his mouth that could spread...

No matter how rich I might become, I will always be the daughter of a janitor
--Frances Varian, in Without a Net
 
When I was a tearaway teen my mother gave me only two rules: do not drive out of the county, and do not get pregnant. Of course I didn't listen; I was in a brutal and...

As if nursing wasn't already hard enough - the sore nipples, the restless nights, the torn shirts, the toddler screaming "boobie" in the middle of a crowded restaurant - the act of publicly nursing a child places many women in a category they haven't been in before: that of victims of discrimination.
 
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