At dawn on April 24, Jenny Thompson Halverson, the first female mayor of West St. Paul, Minnesota, was getting ready to go for a run. Known for her early-morning neighborhood jaunts, her campaign slogan was “Run Jenny Run." But this particular morning would get off to a violating start. And kicked off a revolution in her local political sphere.
Once seen as a fringy alternative to The Pill, today’s intrauterine devices — five types in all! — are winning the hearts of moms (and non-moms) alike
Katie Dohman lives in West St. Paul with her three kids, two dogs and one husband. She loves them a lot, which is good, because she can’t remember the last time she slept a whole night through. (Her columnist photo is by Cadence & Eli Photography.)
In 1960, a prescription drug designed to suppress ovulation and inhibit conception — widely known...
Dad says “sunfish,” daughter says “sunglasses”—how an outdoorsman and a style editor teach each other about the finer things in life.
I had been doom-scrolling yet again on Twitter, wherein I saw people arguing over who had it worse — parents or non-parents — during the pandemic. Here’s what I think: You can’t build collective solidarity against the systemic things crushing all of us if we fight amongst ourselves.
As a freelancer, I'm working harder than ever. As a parent, I can't imagine my life any other way.
I can't resist Sarah McLachlan's siren call.
It was the right house at the right time.
Whew. Well. So here we are. Seemingly overnight, everything’s changed. Like many working families, we’re now mostly sequestered at home, fending off cabin fever, and trying to work from home — something I’ve done for a long time, but never like this — and also supporting our children’s heroic teachers by trying to corral our three-ring circuses in front of iPads and worksheets.
I’m explaining why we can no longer go to the playground or hug our grandparents. (“Viiiiii-rus” or “Ger-rrrms” my c...
Like Jessie Spano of Saved by the Bell memorably sobbed: “There’s never any time!”
There isn’t. I’m constantly fighting the clock. Get kids up, fed, dressed, packed for the day, out the door so I can work, so I can pick them up on time, dinner, nighttime routine forevermore, amen.
They don’t even do any scheduled activities yet! (Another thing I feel I’ve failed on, FYI.)
I’m not a fan of this rinse-repeat cycle in any way whatsoever, and yet any time I’ve tried to change it, I’ve just had to...
I had a moment of realization that I was truly growing up while watching Friday Night Lights (for the first time) a few years back. Coach Twinkle-Eyes was my pick, not the long-haired hunk Tim Riggins.
Look, the rebel with a heart of gold who also happens to be smolderingly handsome — I really get it. But I was so far from scoring a date with that kind of guy in high school that I couldn’t even imagine it.
Nah, if I had to pick a high school character on the show, it would have been sweet Mat...
You don’t realize how many TV shows and movies feature someone throwing up until you have a pregnancy-induced hair-trigger gag reflex. If I had to hazard a guess, I would say a solid 86 percent of them.
I’m really sorry if you’re reading this and in this position — and just the mention of it sent you running for the bathroom. Really sorry. You may want to stop reading here.
I remember once walking, green-faced, into my boss’s office, and being barely even able to open my mouth to say I needed...
Just like there’s no crying in baseball, is there no crying in motherhood?
I had retreated to the bathroom, as bidden by my husband, after I threw an adult-size temper tantrum about … everything. I ran the bath extra hot, poured in coconut oil Epsom salts and swished it with my hand. I picked out some music on my phone.
I tried my breathing GIF. Nope. Still despairing. Still angry. And still sort of wanting to be righteous and indignant about it anyway, damn it!
My rocks glass — bourbon, simp...