A Woman’s Work Is Never Done. or Valued Appropriately.
“Where’s my book?”
“On your bookcase.”
A pause. “Where on the bookcase?”
“The middle shelf.”
Another pause. “Where on the middle shelf?”
I let that hang for a second, my hands covered in the pie pastry I’d been rolling out. Maybe, if I just gave it some time, the book would reveal itself from its sophisticated hiding place of … the middle shelf of a tiny three-shelf bookcase.
It did not. So, I did what mothers do and retrieved the book.
I used to tell this story from my kid’s childhood for laughs, but it points to a deeper truth. . . . [more]


