Meg Wolitzer's Articles in Parenting
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Chapter One (excerpt from The Ten Year Nap)
All around the country, the women were waking up. Their alarm clocks bleated one by one, making soothing sounds or grating sounds or the stirrings of a favorite song. There were hums and beeps and a random burst of radio. There were wind chimes and roaring surf, and the electronic approximation of birdsong and other gentle animal noises. All of it accompanied the passage of time, sliding forward in liquid crystal.
Mothers of Contention and the Money Wars
What will become of the mommy wars in the flailing economy? My fantasy (and it is just a fantasy) is that they will eventually fade into obscurity like, say, the Punic Wars -- relics from a past that seems to have taken place a very long time ago.
This Land is Their Land
My fourteen-year-old son and his friends travel the streets of the city like Oliver Twist and the Artful Dodger and co. -- not ripping off people's wallets and purses, but just hanging out in an excitable, ragged crowd, thrilled to be together and thrilled to be wandering, and certainly in no hurry to come home. When I told a friend about my son's new freedom, she replied, "That's why we live in the city, right? So our kids can have that urban, independent experience."
You've Got Males
The mother of boys can't help but think, once in a while, of those female characters in children's literature who find themselves in all-male households: Snow White, looming large over the irrepressible dwarfs, or Wendy Darling, placed in a freakishly early state of pseudo-motherhood. I was neither coerced onto my island of boys, nor did I some
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