He talked about his loose tooth for what felt like years. Each week, he would approach me with his mouth agape, his pointer finger atop one of his bottom teeth, trying to incite some movement by pushing it back and forth. The tooth didn’t budge, though I feigned intrigue anyways, as mothers do, quietly thrilled that there was no change. Every six months we’d visit the dentist, and each inquiry into teeth lost was met with the same response: not yet! And again, relief would wash over me.
After six years of near-constant milestones—first steps, first word, first birthday, first day of school—I was happy to welcome a lull in the momentum. Of course, microshifts were happening every second of every day, but they were nearly imperceptible, a slight of hand so calculated I wouldn’t recognize the trick until I had long been bamboozled into thinking nothing had changed. In the meantime, I could convince myself that my first baby was still just that—my baby—and that time would stand still momentarily, that the fangs of change would be veiled until I could catch my breath.
But a few months ago, they reappeared, ready to bite. My son’s tooth was finally actually loose, indiscernible to me at first, then more apparent as the weeks marched on. We catalogued the progress together, a pit beginning to grow in my stomach. Though there would be many more milestones ahead—first date, first car, first heartbreak, first job—I knew this was one of the last little kid milestones. Ahead was a new chapter of unknowns, an initiation into the big kid era.
At 42, I’ve begun to stare down the barrel of aging. But instead of dreading it, I’ve mostly felt grateful to get older. It’s saccharine, pollyanna-ish, and even a little morbid, but I’m acutely aware that many don’t have the chance to age, to experience their own milestones, much less their children’s. And yet, I had been hiding behind the corner, fearful of their arrival, when I should have been sprinting after them, eagerly scooping them into my arms to feel their weight fully, to wring them dry of their earnestness, their innocence, their joy, their novelty. I would never outrun them anyways; it was a race against time, and time always wins.
After school one day, as my son absentmindedly toyed with the loose tooth in his mouth while coloring at the dinner table, out it came. He squealed, beaming with pride, and I instantly joined him in his giddiness. A lost tooth! Another milestone, another tiny heartbreak, another miraculous witnessing of my child growing, changing, becoming, being.
That night I looked through the pictures I took of his now gap-toothed grin, holding the teensy tooth up to the camera; he was glowing. I thought back to those other firsts that felt so far away now—a few that I could recall easily and many that were a little hazy. What I did remember from each was a feeling of awe: what luck, to be here for this, to see this with my own eyes. Those milestones hadn’t vanished after their appearance, the way a mile marker might on a cross country drive. I could still see those memories’ mirages in the rearview mirror, even if I had to squint a little, but more importantly I could feel them. The landmarks and pit stops that mattered would be tattooed on my insides forever, an invisible scrapbook of nostalgia pasted on my ever-yearning heart.
That night before bedtime, he asked me if I thought the tooth fairy would consider leaving the tooth behind, because he really wanted to keep it. I told him I thought it was a definite possibility, and to ask for it before he fell asleep. A few minutes later, I heard him whispering in the dark, a sweet plea to a small, unknown somebody.
Overnight, the tooth fairy had arrived and departed, leaving behind a $5 bill (big bucks for the first tooth, of course) and a small metal tin in which his tooth remained. The fairy, who must be a mother herself, let the lost thing be found again. He was grateful to hold his tooth again in the morning, and I was grateful to hold my toothless big kid, in a fleeting moment before everything would, assuredly, change again.
Though the big milestones may be less frequent in the coming years doesn’t mean there is less to celebrate. Now I find myself with searching eyes and perked-up ears in pursuit of smaller moments where awe might be hiding: a completed chapter book, the mastery of roller blades, a bowl of cereal prepared for his little sister.
These, too, I realize may often be lost to the sands of time, passing without my noticing. But I’ll keep trying to grasp them before they slip through my fingers, and with any luck a few grains will cling to my sticky palms forever, nestled in my life line for safekeeping, tiny lost things waiting to be found again.
I mentioned that I was reading Hamnet a couple issues ago, and now that I’ve finished it, I can’t stop telling everyone I know to read this book. It’s so beautifully written, piercing and moving, storytelling at its best. I’ve never read motherhood written in the way Maggie O’Farrell has—the fierceness and protection and devotion rendered so aptly on the page. Incredible.
Once you’re done reading, pop over to hear the incredibly charming Jessie Buckley talk books on One Nightstand. And if you somehow missed her acceptance speech at the Oscars, grab some tissues and queue it up ASAP. (In my opinion, the movie adaptation doesn’t compare to the book, but Jessie Buckley and Paul Mescal are still a delight to watch.)
I wasn’t expecting to like this movie so much—it’s Norwegian, with subtitles, and tracks the fraught relationship between a father and his daughters. But this movie pulled me in immediately, and I became so enamored with sisters Agnes and Nora. The scene between the two of them near the end left an imprint on me that I won’t soon forget. Streaming on Disney+/Hulu.
I made this cocktail for my sister’s Oscars party, and it was a smash hit. I adapted a recipe from an old menu I had from Napa Valley Distillery—it’s such a bright cocktail, with a sweet/tart combo that doesn’t miss.
1.5 oz vodka
1 oz strawberry simple syrup*
.75 oz fresh lime juice
.5 oz passion fruit liqueur
.25 oz orange liqueur (Cointreau or similar)
Shake all ingredients in a shaker with ice until very cold, about 20 seconds. Double strain into a chilled coupe. Garnish with a lime wheel or sliced strawberry.
* To make the strawberry simple syrup, combine 1 cup sugar, 1 cup water, and 1.5 cups of roughly chopped strawberries in a saucepan over medium-low heat. Simmer for 10 minutes, smashing strawberries lightly around 5 minutes. Remove from heat and let cool in pan. Strain through a fine mesh strainer, squeezing out the liquid from the berries. Will keep in fridge for about 2 weeks.
Calling all possibly perimenopausal, exhausted, disregulated, maybe a bit ADHD moms!! (Me.) This planner will fix it all. Just kidding. But it has helped me get my days in order somewhat, so that I’m not scrolling/staring into the abyss quite as much. Plus, the founder Cari is just the bees knees, and walks you through how she’s using her own planner and managing a chaotic life with three kids which I find helpful and even kind of soothing? Anyways, I’ve never had luck with planners in the past but this one feels like it might just stick. Plus, it’s undated so you can start anytime, and you get to support a small, woman-owned business.
After spending what has probably amounted to years squinting in low-lit restaurants to read the tiny-printed (always) menus, I finally gave into the call of glasses. I had been kind of dreading the purchase, and knew that to get myself hyped up for this step further into midlife I had to find a pair that made me excited to put them on. I ordered some at Warby Parker, then returned them, then spent 57958734 hours looking at glasses online, then popped into an adorable small shop in Petaluma and snagged a very cute pair that I love. They’re lightweight and reasonably priced and come in a million colors and patterns.
Is going grocery shopping with your kids the tenth circle of hell for you, too? Then this book is for you!!! There’s pleading for sugary cereal, running amok through the aisles, spills and screams! Relatable content!! My 4-year-old and I both giggled and nodded knowingly the whole time. Adding this one to our forever collection stat. (I know I discovered this from one of my many favorite kids book Substackers, but cannot for the life of me track it back—please pipe up if it’s you and you’re reading this!!)
Also loving: The Kissing Hand by Audrey Penn (a classic I had somehow never read, my daughter and I both cried), I’m Very Busy by Oliver Jeffers
Ok this is such a wildcard but I stumbled upon this podcast episode and found it so intimate and life-giving. The interview goes way beyond Puth’s music career, exploring his fear of vulnerability and the anxieties that have stood in the way of growth, personally and professionally.
In her newsletter, Airplane Mode, Liz Plank dissects why we were so enthralled by the Artemis II mission. Beyond its ambitious goal—to glimpse the far side of the moon, previously unseen by human eyes—she asserts that it was the display of aptitude, intelligence, integrity, and a thoughtful, soul-centered communication about the project that gave us a hope in humanity we haven’t experienced at a national level in years. She writes:
We have gotten so used to watching the people who are supposed to be in charge fail loudly, fail publicly, fail in ways that feel designed to make us feel small and powerless, that watching four people simply be extraordinary at an extraordinarily hard thing produced in many of us something close to shock. We did not know we were this hungry for it. We did not know how much we had been bracing. I don’t know about you, but I didn’t realize how clenched I was. Nobody told me that watching competent people do a hard thing correctly would be the most therapeutic experience of my adult life.
When the bracing stopped, for a few days, because someone finally did the thing correctly, and the thing was going to the moon, and they named a crater after a nurse, and they hid easter eggs in the spacecraft, and they held hands in zero gravity, and you felt, perhaps for the first time in a while, that the people running important things might actually know what they are doing.
I’m absolutely still consuming/bookmarking/sharing Artemis II content to keep these immaculate vibes going, how bout you?
Worth Noting: March’s 10 Honorable Mentions
Another recently enjoyed grown-up read: Homeschooled by Stefan Merrill Block, memoir—a captivating peek into a world I knew nothing about.
Fearing what feels like an inevitable ailment induced by my aerosol dry-shampoo overuse before school drop off everyday, I’m gonna give Ceremonia’s brush/powder situation a whirl.
I regret to inform you that the BonBon sour blackberry fish are kind of worth the outrageous cost of a whopping $9 per (small) bag. I found them at Anthro, but I’ve seen them at World Market and lots of small gift-y shops stock them now too.
Two Instagram accounts: @bestiesnyc for heartwarming stories about real life BFFs, and @thiefofmemory, just a beautiful, unique bookstagram account unlike anything else I’ve come across.
Honestly obsessed with Goldie’s picnic bag which is both chic and super functional. I wish I could gift one to every mom in my life!
Target x Andie Swim collab, A+.
As a child whose favorite toy was an old-school adding machine (complete with paper receipts), I highly agree with the idea to buy your toddler office supplies.
She Risked Her Voice to Become a Mother, The Daily. Such a thoughtful, resonant look at the pull between ambition and motherhood.
Loved this conversation with Emma Straub at Godmother’s Bookstore—I adore the way she talks about aging, and rediscovering possibility in midlife. I loved This Time Tomorrow, and am so excited to read her latest, American Fantasy.
In case you needed a good cry today, I got u!
Thank you for reading, ilysm!
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