Freelance Writer
Essays
The (New) Middle Ages
ELLE
“I thought that in your 40s you picked which middle-aged persona you wanted to be and got on with it. A ruddy-cheeked cross-country skier? A woman with a long grey braid who shops at health-food stores wearing a bike helmet? A lady who looks like a glasses ad, with her smart red lips and chunky statement necklace? You could be a wearer of purple batik-turtle-print dresses! A short-haired golfer! A sexy coug!”
(step)mother's day
Today's Parent
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“But god, it’s hard dating a dad. You’re not just falling in love with one person, you’re falling in love with three, and not to sound like a Bachelor contestant, but it’s awfully tricky to let your guard down with that kind of pressure. If things didn’t work out between him and me, my relationships with the kids would end, too. Sometimes I would forget to breathe under the weight of it all.”
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Labour of Love
Glow
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“I watched, stunned, as one of the people I love most in this world suddenly became two. He was not there, and then he was: my newest nephew, Leonardo, screaming furiously at his eviction. The six of us in the room each welcomed him to the world in a different language: Farsi, Mandarin, French, Italian, Hebrew and English.”
Remorse Code
FLARE
“I don’t do sleeveless. Can’t do sleeveless. My floral arm band that was so terribly au courant one million years ago is now the aesthetic equivalent of the drunk-uncle speech at a wedding. It’s a can of Coors Light spilled on a Chloé silk blouse. The only thing it looks good with is a cardigan.”
Motherhood
FLARE
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“The worry is, of course, that you will change your mind. That one day you will wake up and you will cry over a diaper commercial but your eggs will have turned to dust and you will live with a broken, empty heart for the rest of your life. That age, apparently (according to urban lore), is 40, which I turned six months ago. My mind hasn’t changed.”
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Vampire Weekend
Glow
“The next day, I wake up looking like I’ve been on a week-long salt, tears and booze bender. I press the mushy area under my eyes and wonder if my orbital bones will ever reappear. ‘How do you look?’ asks a friend on the phone. ‘Like a Yorkshire pudding,’ I say.”
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