When I met Kyle, I was married. I was two weeks postpartum with my fourth child, a beautiful baby boy. I was 38 years old. My decade-long marriage was coming to an end. Kyle was filling in that morning for my older son’s tennis pro and soon, he became mine. In every way.
We started getting to know each other over hours of court time, as the seasons changed and the fuzzy yellow tennis balls flew back and forth, carrying our secrets with them.
Still, despite knowing about his family, his weekend antics, his other clients, I was afraid to…
I don’t usually cry about it. My mother-in-law passed away late last summer from Covid. And while that was a horrific and traumatic loss, one that I witnessed firsthand while trying to facilitate her care from afar alongside my husband, Kyle, and his sister, Stefanie, I typically try to remove myself emotionally.
After all, Kyle and Stefanie are the real victims of this loss. It was their mom, not mine. My mom is ten years older than Susan would’ve been and just got a puppy, whereas we’ve adopted Susan’s dog, Nya. It isn’t fair. Any of it. …
Iam recording the audiobook for my recent book Moms Don’t Have Time To: A Quarantine Anthology. I was so stressed out about finding the time to do it — and how complicated it seemed — that I kept putting it off. That is, until my husband Kyle reminded me of a few important things.
It has been a YEAR. Any chance I get to capture Kyle smiling and happy, I’m in.
Grief is our ever-present marital companion and — in the physical form of Kyle’s mom’s dog, Nya — it has followed us everywhere. It sleeps pressed up against us and trots beside us from morning to night, requiring feeding, walking. Attention.
The loss of Kyle’s young, vibrant mom — and the way it happened after six weeks with Covid — was cruel, heartless, and traumatic. He’ll never be the same.
But, with everything horrendous in life, we all find a way forward. To…
One year later. I’m laying on the couch with side effects from getting the first dose of the vaccine yesterday. (I have an autoimmune disorder so was eligible in NY.)
The dizziness and aches from my 9 days in bed with Covid last month seem to be back temporarily, so I have time to reflect for two seconds before getting the kids off to school. Well, some of the kids. Goal for next year? All four in actual school at the same time! #amomcandream
I feel grief and loss in every pore of my being on this one-year anniversary of…
Books make fantastic gifts. But sometimes it’s the title of the book that packs the most punch. While these novels and memoirs may not have the perfect plots for the love of your life — or the guy you just met on Tinder — the titles might fit the bill. If nothing else, they’ll hopefully make you laugh. With Covid forcing us to scrap most of our romantic plans these days, at least we can gift-wrap some carefully chosen books to delight each other, just because. …
Time and I are like kids playing tag in the backyard. Usually time is chasing me and I’m racing through the freshly cut grass in my overalls, my heart pounding, my chubby legs pumping, narrowly escaping being grabbed by the bigger bully of a boy behind me. But occasionally we switch roles. Sometimes I’m the one who has to pursue time, left in the dust of a much more nimble opponent who knows the landscape, who expertly dodges trees and divots and discarded toys littering the lawn, leaving me out of breath and nowhere close to victory.
At my recent launch event and fundraiser for Moms Don’t Have Time To: A Quarantine Anthology co-hosted by BookHampton and CMEE, 50+ contributing authors plus 200+ others congregated and shared tips on reading, breathing, having sex, working out and eating. Just like they did in my book. The Zoom chat itself was so entertaining that I’ve included it here.
19:03:04 From Katie Cunningham : Congratulations Zibby!!! Happy Launch Day! Feel better soon! 19:03:05 From Laura Munson : HI JEANNE! 19:03:06 From jamiebrenner : Happy pub day — I can’t believe you’re doing this!!! 19:03:06 From Sue Groner : congratulations Zibby…
I wasn’t sure how I was going to get through it. But I knew I had to; I didn’t have a choice.
When I decided to get divorced at age thirty-eight, as the mother of four young kids, including a nine-month-old baby, I did so because I couldn’t not. I did so, fundamentally, to save my soul.
I don’t blame my ex-husband. The ins and outs of our relationship are probably familiar to many and largely irrelevant, for reasons hard to articulate yet easy to feel.
The fallout from our separation left me pushing a stroller up and down Madison…
I was under the covers already, but had to pick up her call. We caught up for a while.
“How’s your book on workaholism coming along?” I asked.
My dear friend was confessing some big things and needed an active ear.
“Well, I stopped working for the past year,” she responded. “I’ve been hiding out. Rethinking. Repairing. My body is healing. I feel so much better.”
We started talking about her recent collapse, how the stress she’d put herself under had caused some auto-immune issues. How she’d ended up in the hospital.
“I had to call you,” she said. “I…