My biggest problem with Colin Kaepernick being named Citizen of the Year by GQ magazine is not that he was…
I made a mistake. Despite almost 16 years as a mother to all boys — boys whom I know absorb my comments and actions — I had a moment of weakness and forgot. I opened my mouth and bad, hurtful words came out.
For most things, the military moves at a glacial pace. As recently as the 1970s, there was still a section on an officer’s fitness report reserved for evaluating how supportive his wife was. Did she host enough parties? Attend all the coffees?
Ask my oldest son, Ford, or my husband, Dustin, what they had for lunch the day we drove to Newport, Rhode Island, last year for April vacation, and they will probably remember. They’d also tell you what was playing on the radio and which movie the family had most recently seen together. Ford could probably tell you which shirt he had on.
It was a not-so-dark and stormy night before Easter. A rash purchase, fueled by emotions and a day full of laundry (that will make sense later), had me lugging a box that was too big to be bagged out of Best Buy.
The learning-to-drive thing was going well for my 15-year-old son, Ford. He only had one close call with a lamp post and he had quit stopping at green lights. He did still pray out loud for little children walking on the sidewalk — “Please don’t step off the curb, kid. Please just stay on the safety of that sidewalk” — but for the most part, driving with Ford had become routine.
Last week I shared with you my newest parenting adventure: riding in the backseat for my 15-year-old son Ford’s driver’s education check-ride. What I didn’t tell you is that before being a passenger to the most terrifying drive of my life, I spent the morning at a baby shower. The mother-to-be’s husband used to babysit my three boys. This spring, he and his wife will be first-time parents to a baby boy.
What’s the scariest thing you did last week? Here’s mine: I voluntarily got into a “two-ton killing machine,” according to the driving instructor, and let my child take me for a drive — a drive that included two rotaries.
To understand my grandmother, Doris, you had to know how Southern she was. Born in 1920, she spent her entire life, until she died last week at the age of 95, in Birmingham, Alabama. Doris didn’t love the South for its controversial past or the riots she lived through in the 1960s. She loved it because it was the only home she’d ever known.
The debate over whether women should also be required to register for Selective Service gained momentum last week. First, high-ranking military officers told Congress that it is the next logical step, and presidential candidates were forced to respond.