OP Mother’s day 2021

For the last many years, this has been a hard day for me, and the years passing haven’t made it easier to stomach. It isn’t a pain one becomes familiar with, or accustomed to, or can just “breathe into.” This year had a particular twist or six, when we had the fleeting thought that we would sell the Airstream, and the man who wanted to purchase it was hoping to gift it to his wife for Mother’s Day.

This is a tremendously generous gift, in my opinion, as owning an Airstream has been a goal of…


OP: Mother’s Day 2020

The first time I heard Glennon Doyle speak on motherhood, it was at 80 miles per hour in the Arizona desert, aboard the Sat Nam mobile. She was in the clutches of addiction when she discovered she was pregnant — she tells the story from the perspective of a wicked hangover on a scummy bathroom floor. This realization gave her the will to live and live sober, validated her worth, and wounded me mortally.

Had it not been inside of my cell phone, I would have chucked the audio book out of the window, leaving it…


OP: Mother’s Day 2019

MOTHER’S DAY SURVIVAL GUIDE (for those who suffer on this day):
1. Decide on your plan early, or now.

2. Disengage from media, social media, technology contact, and stay away from anywhere brunch-y. If you must engage or brunch, make an after-care plan. Also, feel free to use the restroom as long as you want, as frequently as you need to, as your personal bat cave. You may also “accidentally” drop your phone in the toilet.

3. Tell a few safe friends that you might need some support, and ask them to reach out to you…


OP: Mother’s Day 2018

I recently reflected on the gift and gauntlet of the cotillion — the weekly country club soiree that my parents love-forced me to attend, in the hopes that I might marry well, or at least, not be an embarrassment to the family should I be invited to the weddings of others.

This sort of thing is a cultural rite for the upper crust and the upper class, and includes the yet untapped lessons about how to foxtrot and to pass the salt and pepper together — always to the right, unless the person requesting is two…


Are you ready for this one?

I considered not writing one this year — just letting the day slip by while I do my best ostrich impersonation, but I just couldn’t help myself. I have a few things to say.

Somewhere in my teens, I cleverly decided to give up prayer for Lent, as a tangible offering of my release of the very concept of faith.

(God finds this idea hilarious).

I didn’t go back. Once confirmed, I really almost never set foot into a church. And now I’m not sure I belong, because of the marriage and divorce and…


OP: 2016

I’m sure a lot of you are saying this right now, perhaps because you didn’t buy a card or you forgot to book brunch, so you’re taking Mom to an afternoon tea at an obscure German restaurant because all of the popular places are full.

This post is not for you.

If you’re taking your mother or children to get a pedicure or wreak havoc in a family photo, go and get on with your life. You’re wasting daylight by reading.

If instead, you woke up in shackles, compelled to drink not because of family drama ala Everyone…


(OP: Mother’s Day, 2015)

I hate today.

(I love my mother, but I hate today).

Today is a reminder that three years ago I was grateful for a uterus and The Opportunity to Try. Two years ago I was anxious. One year ago I was desperate. Or despaired, if that’s a thing.

Today I am crushed. I feel like a flat worm, squashed beneath a semi-truck, baked in the afternoon sun, picked at by a raven. Desiccated and not terribly pleasant company. I want to hide from social media so my poisonous opinion doesn’t leech out into the internet and…


Dear Sirs (of all genders);

It has come to my attention that you find public health and safety a nuisance.

I understand.

I find humans to be a nuisance in general, healthy or otherwise. When I worked in college admission, I used to joke that it would have been a great job except for all of the students.

When I traveled, it was so lovely, except for lines… of people. At TSA, at coffee shops… everywhere, those pesky people.

The only thing worse than scads and crowds of people is scads and crowds of dead people. Which is what happens…


An Open Letter to the Checkout Clerk:

Dear Madame,

I appreciate your open concern and attempts at humor when you asked me “where my baby” was upon seeing my personal basket laden with groceries.

It’s complicated.

You see, in this can, there are quite a few worms. I mostly keep them under wraps, but occasionally a half-hearted comment such as yours unwraps the careful binding from both my can and my mental health, and my face flushes, and I simultaneously hold compassion for you in what must be a primarily thankless job, and compassion for me and my worm situation.


It was just about one year ago.

I made a promise to myself that I would no longer rush, or hurry, or go at anyone else’s pace.

(It wasn’t my idea).

I was in Delhi, crossing an impossible road, from one unmarked location to a place that appears on no map.

The Western mind cannot conceive of India, as she is simultaneous — all possibilities unfolding at once, in every direction. It is the proof of particle theory and wave theory, laughing jovially at rudimentary physics that drives a scalpel between the matter of the thing and the energy of…

Kari Kwinn

Live a life worth writing about.

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