growing up

The fear of my parents getting killed driving me there or back loomed around every decision. I always went with my parents on every errand possible, pretending I liked the grocery store.

I saw my boobs as a way to get me into the secret world of feminine desirability, so I played them like they were my winning hand. I created an entire story about my sexuality that centered my breasts because they felt like the only normal — or maybe extraordinary — thing about my body. I think I hoped that I could use them to get some precious ween (obvi), but also to get MORE.

Just as you're learning to navigate the world by yourself, I guess it's time for me to relearn the ropes of motherhood. To patiently watch you find your wings, to sit in the shadows and watch you fly, to applaud you quietly from a distance, to embrace you when you decide to come back. Only to go off by yourself again.

When David was about 12, he told me that he wanted to take the train to school alone. My gut reaction was, “No way in hell!” I mean, we live in a safe neighborhood and all, but David has ADHD and was easily distracted. What if he missed his stop? What if someone messed with him?

In part, I didn't want kids because I knew that I couldn't even take care of myself, let alone someone else.

The force of the blast blew every window out of our house. Just another Sunday in my home.

I didn't have a fairy-tale childhood, unless it was one of those dark and grim ones that really shouldn't be read to children.

My uncles Yasha and Chanukah are sitting around the apartment in their white briefs as usual.