Hope. Or When History Stops Repeating Itself.

We all have heard the stories. They usually begin with “back in my day…” and what follows is a litany of exaggerated narratives about how life back then was so much harder than the present. How she—usually some gray-haired elder wearing a pillbox hat and compression stockings, hiding the tobacco chilling between her gums and …

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Raising Fearless Kids (Or What I Refuse to Carry Into 2015)

I’m the worst passenger in a car. Anyone who knows me well, knows to pop a couple of valiums before driving me anywhere long distance because stress is most certainly a’coming. Because of several car accidents over the course of a couple of decades, I’ve developed a serious case of PTSD when someone else is …