I wish this were fiction, but it’s not. — In the midst of the pandemic, I’m working furiously from my home office. Eighteen-year-old Jacob is filling out college financial aid applications from his laptop and my twelve-year-old, Michael, has been poking his head into my office repeatedly, all day long. “Mom, what are you doing?” “Mom, are you OK?”…

Until a child died. — “A jelly jar exploded in our pantry this morning,” said my backdoor neighbor. “Annie was still asleep, so I called Mrs. Beard right away. I didn’t want Annie to wake up to a mess first thing.” I nodded along, as if this made perfect sense. Of course, yes, when a jelly jar explodes on a Saturday morning, the natural…

It’s a first-world problem, for sure. — My mom and dad own a slice of a beach house, along with five or six other couples. The arrangement is similar to a timeshare but the agreement is private. Most of the owners are fully retired and a few are at the point where it’s no longer safe for…

Why “You’ve Lost Weight!” is the worst compliment, ever. — We are a nation obsessed with weight. From The Biggest Loser to My 600 Pound Life, we can’t get enough of watching other people shrink their bodies. This voyeurism says more about us than it does the people on the screen. First, let me say that I’m a Registered Dietitian…

Here’s why I can’t wait to write the check. — I logged onto TurboTax and started to prepare my tax return this weekend. I’ve done my taxes this way every year for more than 20 years. I know it’s weird, but I actually enjoy doing my taxes. I like to see how last year compared with the year before. Did I earn more or less? How much did I invest more…

They forever held their peace. — “You know you don’t have to do this, right?” That’s what my dad asked just before he walked me down the aisle. I don’t know why he asked me that. Did he sense my anxiety, or was he just asking? I could talk with my dad about that question now…

I had to break the news to her. — A couple of weeks ago, I was chatting with my mom. She was sitting in her recliner, holding her small, blind dog and rocking him like a baby. “I just feel so sorry for this little Brandon,” she said. I gave her a quizzical look. “What little Brandon, Mom?” “You…

I can never go home again. — I distinctly remember the day I found out. I came home from work, and my dad’s face was ashen. “I need to tell you something. You’d better sit down.” I sat at the dining room table, my purse digging into my shoulder, my work shoes still pinching my toes. “Your…