It's enough to be a working mother -- constantly inundated by the discussion of whether or not we can "have it all" -- and then to hear this awful tale that plants a seed of fear about how maybe you can't even trust the one person who, for those of us trying to do it, helps us keep it together.
Before my daughters headed off to school this morning, I had to sit them down and tell them about an unimaginable tragedy that had happened in our neighborhood. Two children were allegedly stabbed to death by their nanny, and one of those children was a student at their school
These days, gluten-free baked goods and pastas can't be distinguished from their wheat-based brethren. We've come a long way from the days of rice cakes and dried fake bread! Visit these bakeries, restaurants and shops and feast!
I realized in that moment that I still loved him. Not in a way that would threaten my marriage, just that I wanted the world for him. That he'd left a deep imprint on my life. That I'm a better person for having known him.
My personal memory of Marilyn, far afield from Eunice Murray's terrible discovery, is splendid and dates back to the mid-1950s when I was barely a teenager and lived in the Belnord, the apartment building on the Upper West Side of Manhattan.
Thank you for allowing me to appreciate the efforts people around me make to live their lives and push their walkers; how those efforts vary in size and scope; how they are not always seen and, if seen, not always noticed and, if noticed, not always acknowledged.