By Anne Fox Like Simone de Beauvoir, I have compared housework to the torture of Sisyphus. Yet once in a while, when an afternoon turns golden, I remember the outcome of an irresistible impulse. Despite my many years of kinship with a clothes dryer, long...
The small high desert cemetery perched lonely and dry on a forgotten rise past the outskirts of a town that chose to grow in a different direction. The tombstone had reduced the lifetime of this woman’s struggles and joys to her name, dates, and one word—Mother. When...
On September 14th, I fly to Canterbury, England with 20 other students from my college for thirteen weeks. That’s 91 days, 2184 hours, 131,040 minutes that I will be worlds away from the two most significant people in my life – my fiancé, Malcom, and my 2 year old...
Right now I have two jobs. The first is taking care of my three-year-old son. The second is writing. Both require mothering: the first of my son and the second of my writer self.Last fall, I volunteered at a writing conference for women and in one of the workshops, a...
I managed a ski shop awhile back. It was a fun, laid back, bro-talking industry – for a guy. But for a woman, it was an often sexist fight for recognition that wasn’t based on how tight my clothes were. Our mostly male customers seemed surprised I was...