Gemma Hartley

To be honest, I consider myself pretty damn good at adulting. I’m a great cook, as long as I have a recipe. I’m a self-taught professional baker.

I’m not saying there is no joy to motherhood. I go through periods where I do feel like I’m at my parenting best. There are times when I’m overwhelmed with gratitude for the amazing life and children I’ve been given. It can be so, so good. But what I’m saying is, it doesn’t always have to feel like that.

Sometimes, I think back to all the ridiculous things I did for boys when I was younger and cringe.

I am sometimes painfully envious of other (usually childless) writers who are doing the very thing I swore I would have done by now — publishing a novel.

I don't want motherhood to be where my life begins and ends. Sure, we can still talk about our kids, commiserate, and share in one another's parenting accomplishments — but at some point, we need to be more than mere storytellers of our children's lives.

There is a time to be prudent and fair to “many sides” of an issue, but dealing with Nazis is not that time.

I could very easily slip through the next four years with blinders on and feel largely unaffected by the political climate. Which is why it’s so important for me to remind myself every day to stay in the fight. Even when it doesn't affect me personally, I owe it to my allies to remain vigilant all (four) year(s) long.

At Santa Rosa Christian School, dancing was a gateway drug. The gyrating, the slow romantic swaying...

We are often so focused on what we say to girls, that we forget the impact our words have on our boys. One flippant mention of my son’s “skinny” figure has turned into a source of unnecessary turmoil for him, and has lead to this difficult but important conversation about body image.