When my kids were younger, I had packing the diaper bag for an outing down to a science. I always brought snacks and sippy cups and way more diapers than we needed. I had changes of clothes to last us days, and a first aid kit I took with us, and small toys and board books...you get the picture. But as my kids got older, I grew more lax. I still keep a change of clothes in the back of the van for both kids, but we often leave for outings woefully under-prepared. Kids are still kids, even if they're six and nine, and in some ways, older kids can get way more messy than the smaller versions. [more]

If you've been following this blog for awhile now, you might have picked up on the fact that here at Professor Mom's house, we're a family that loves a good tradition. And while we might muddle through much of this parenting business, there is one thing I've held onto steadfastly through it all: traditions are important--they are the splashier counterpart to that other important part of daily life: routines. Perhaps the most difficult part of adjusting to parenthood is how you have to give yourself over to routines, so early on. [more]

All the sunny, blue sky weather we’ve had for the past few days vanished last night. We woke up yesterday to heavy gray skies, and rain. The perfect day to wear my new raincoat, a spiffy black Ann Taylor coat I bought for $15 at my favorite thrift store last week. Except I had taken it to the dry cleaners on Friday and hadn’t picked it up yet. [more]

Quite a few years ago, when I was in high school and my sister and I were in Greece for the summer, we took a train to visit an aunt-by-marriage and her son (our cousin) in Thessaloniki, in northern Greece. When I think about the many stand-out moments in my life so far (and there are, fortunately, many) I always think about that particular trip and about the time we dug out hollows in the sand on the beach, wedged our sleeping bags into the cool spots and spent the night under the stars. [more]

I had a flashback of me as a child, sitting in our two-bedroom apartment. The smell of crack cocaine burning is deeply-rooted in my nostrils. Suddenly my son startled me and asked, “What is that smell?” It was the smell of the burning trash that lingers in the air in South Africa. “It’s just burning trash, Danny.” [more]