(Happy Mother’s Day to All.) {A Poem}
For the mother who wants nothing, more than hugs. For the mother who needs nothing, beyond time spent together. For the mother where words of cheerful greeting find they can never be enough, but...
Jennifer S. White Blog
The Only Way to Cure Writer’s Block.
To be fair, I haven’t exactly had writer’s block. What I have had is a complete lack of concern for my writing. This isn’t to say that I’m not still constantly jotting down ideas at...
Drink Wine, Eat Ice Cream & Other Things I Want My Kids to See Me Do.
Have you ever tried to go to the bathroom with someone leaning on your leg? Because that’s motherhood. There are no secrets from your kids; or, rather, there are, but they are carefully concealed...
Motherhood Is Not Being Selfish.
I close my eyes and listen to the sound of my breath leave my nostrils, slowly yet hastily. My heart pumps blood quickly and my throat clenches. I feel anxiety at seeing familiar faces,...
How I Fell Back in Love with Yoga After Falling Out.
It all began years ago, my love of weight lifting. I used to lift tiny weights for many repetitions and run my butt off, literally—I actually had an eating disorder and, on top of...
We Can’t Expect More from Someone than They Can Give.
It all began with my four year old, really; this lesson that we cannot expect more from someone than they can give. The thing is, that sometimes I forget she’s four. She’s kind and...
A New Place to Dream.
Life is a spiral, with one circle ending and another simultaneously beginning; layering and weaving thick histories and memories that ultimately makeup our very personal stories. My own personal story is evolving once again, as...
Everyone Should Be Listening to This. {New Music Alert}
My husband said that when he listens to my current favorite album, he can hear his beard grow. Because, yes, Israel Nash has the current “it” sound of hipster-chic cool (like beards…sound…um, moving on)....
The Nap Keeper: A Tale of Friendships, Naps & Motherhood.
I’ll admit to being a mother who once rolled her eyes when other moms couldn’t have playdates because it was “nap time.” Not that I’m unaware of the extreme importance of keeping regularity within a child’s...
The Tattoo of Spring.
Her fingers are coarse from the dry winter air. She rubs them together absentmindedly; running the careful grooves of one finger whirl against another. She spreads her arms out wide to her side—her thin,...
