Bookish and Bonkers

I know a boy. He’s sensitive and funny, unpredictable and cantankerous. He’s my boy. His own boy, really, but I’ve been lucky enough to be lent him in this lifetime. I love him. And I also wring my hands. And then I smile. Let’s call him Bookish. When most of us have a raging headache, we crawl…

The Fab Four

Rarely do I let my snarkier self—the one honed at an all-female, private-school–take over the keyboard but mommy politics requires a more finessed hand, a sharper tongue. I’m going to venture into the realm of the catty but true.  Oh, and maybe into a couple glasses of wine or a martini. I have learned my…