Last fall I broke my pinkie toe. Already running late, I had rushed back into the house to grab a warm jacket for my daughter when I tripped over the luggage our houseguests had conveniently placed by the door in preparation for their departure. It wasn’t anyone’s fault—our guests weren’t expecting me to come racing back into the house at top speed. But the painful days afterwards (a broken little toe is no little thing, I quickly discovered) were a reminder that sometimes I live a bit too close to the edge—it’s always rush, rush, rush.
Liz Stockwell
Liz Stockwell has a PhD in zoology from the University of Washington and lives in Burnaby, British Colombia. After experiencing the hectic pace of combined teaching, parenting, and academic life, she decided to be home with her two young children full-time. In her off-hours, she squeezes in writing projects (occasionally!) and enjoys exploring the forest and seashore with her family.
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Most Recent Articles
February 4, 2009
It’s something every parent has experienced … the mournful cries of a sick child in the middle of the night. In our family aching knees — my daughter’s growing pains — are the usual culprits, and my husband and I take turns sitting up with her and rubbing her sore legs until she slips back into sleep. In January, and now into February, it’s been nighttime coughing that keeps us up. This winter our kids seem to have caught one illness after the other in which the primary symptom is a nasty cough.
January 21, 2009
Last Tuesday my 7-year-old came home from school and proudly showed off his new library book about a super-hero who wears nothing but a cape and tighty-whitey underwear (I won’t mention the name lest it be quoted as an endorsement. Just ask any 7-year-old or parent of elementary-aged children if you’re not sure what I mean. A clue: he’s addressed as “Captain.”). The books in this series are full of potty humor—perfect for second graders—but a little too much for parents.
January 7, 2009
The first days of a new year always fill me with a numbing sense of dread that is deeply rooted and hard to shake. It has nothing to do with the farewell to an old year or to the holiday festivities; it has everything to do with farewell to family and loved ones. The days after New Year celebrations were for several years the time when my husband and I said good-bye to one another after spending Christmases with each other at our parents’ homes.
December 10, 2008
It’s that time of year again when the boxes of Christmas decorations come out of storage and for a few days our living room and dining room are a chaotic assemblage of boxes until we finish decking the halls. After the kids had done their decorating last night, I carefully unwrapped the layers of bubble wrap that protected my set of vintage glass ornaments. These once brightly colored balls, the type of kitschy holiday decorations that probably cost a dollar at a dime store in the 1950’s, are concave on one side with tiny plastic and wood figures nestled in their glitter-snow centers.
November 26, 2008
When I was 17, I wrote an essay entitled “Why I do not want to have children.” My seemingly prescient mother saved it, along with other high school memorabilia, and when I came across the essay a few years ago I was amazed at the depth of feelings I’d developed at such a young age. The gist of the paper was that although I loved kids, I didn’t feel that I was capable of having both a family and a career, and I really wanted to focus on becoming a biologist. I pointed out that I knew many women who very successfully combined career and parenting, but I didn’t feel that I could.
November 12, 2008
I know that my mother and mother-in-law laugh at me behind my back. After all, I’ve taken some pretty ridiculous stands in the name of feminism since my daughter was born. To my mother-in-law I implored: “Please. No pink or frills or lace. I know she’s your first granddaughter, but I want to go easy on the girly-girl stuff.” Ha! Somewhere around age two my daughter mysteriously gravitated toward ruffles, lace, and sparkles, despite my best efforts to steer her toward practical, sporty, gender-neutral clothing.
October 22, 2008
At breakfast Monday morning my husband came downstairs to announce that he’d thought of something for his Christmas list. Hurray, I thought, quickly grabbing pen and paper to write down an idea from the world’s most difficult person to shop for.
“I need a new dive watch,” he said.
“Oh, great,” was my sarcastic response. “Something nice and cheap.”
We agreed that it was probably too extravagant a gift and that we’d have to see if we could afford it. But our son suddenly chimed in from his waffle:
October 1, 2008
I do a lot of writing in the shower. Well, no, not actually writing things down on waterproof paper or writing on the tile walls with bathtub crayons (although that might not be such a bad idea). Instead my brain is abuzz composing paragraphs, writing lines for blogs, and thinking about proposals for projects. I’m supposed to be zipping in and out for a quick scrub, but needless to say, my showers are sometimes longer than they should be because I get lost in thought.
September 10, 2008
The patch of woods outside my front door is in trouble. After we moved into our neighborhood four years ago, my husband and I, along with several other community members lobbied hard for an elementary school to serve our growing population. Be careful what you wish for, I guess. Last spring the school district announced plans to build a new elementary school in our community, but we learned that the playing field for the school will cut right through our favorite patch of forest.
