Julianna W.Miner

Check me out over at McSweeney's

2026-04-01T09:38:00.006-04:00

I had a piece run in McSweeney's last week, which is extremely exciting for me because I'm a huge fan. It's about The Secret Lives of Mormon Wives and why the algorithm seems very determined that I should care about them. It makes perfect sense, given that there's really nothing else going on at the moment.

Please check it out here!

Putting A Pin in It

2025-01-01T09:20:00.000-05:00

Hello friends,

Rants from Mommyland is still here but functions primarily as an archive for old posts and information about me and the various things I've written. If you need to reach me, the best way to get a response is probably via email (see the contact section/page) or by DM'ing me on Instagram.

As a quick update:

I'm not accepting advertising or PR pitches for this site.
I rarely work with sponsors or brands, unless it's a remarkably good fit or for a really good cause.
I never accept third party offers to backlink, add posts/articles, etc.
I don't provide access to my social feeds for partnerships, so please don't ask.
I don't provide support for individual fundraising efforts.
Comments are turned off because posts are no longer moderated.

xoxo,

(c) Mommyland Blogs 2013-2023

Tiny Love Story in The New York Times

2024-05-07T13:26:00.030-04:00

I recently went to the Erma Bombeck Writer's Workshop and it was an incredible experience. There, I reconnected with some old friends, made new ones, listened to Wade Rouse/Viola Shipman give perhaps the best keynote in the history of ever, and attended a session by Estelle Erasmus on writing micro-memoirs. Maybe it doesn't sound like much, but conveying anything meaningful in exactly 100 words is harder than you'd think.

Estelle is a prolific writer, teacher, and coach who has been my (and many other writers') freelance fairy godmother for years. She's unbelievably smart, canny, and generous and I love her so much. If you ever get the chance to meet her, do it. Go introduce yourself and then don't be surprised if she remembers your name five years later and is also the first person to congratulate you online when you finally publish something.

But I digress...

I followed the advice she gave in her workshop, begged her for advice in an elevator the following day, and a couple of weeks later - my micro-essay was accepted by The New York Times as a Tiny Love Story.

You can find it on their website here.

Me and my sister during another ritual cleansing
about two years after our brother’s death.

Icy Clarity

My sister and I left our brother’s funeral like captives escaping, gravel flying behind us. We needed a ritual cleansing. The memorial was unbearable, just as our relationships with him had become. He was brilliant but had demons. We were furious at his drinking, furious at losing him when he was only 30. At the secret beach where we scattered his ashes, the sun glared down. We walked deep into the briny water, rocks stabbing our feet. Holding hands, we went under, shocked into icy clarity. We emerged numb, unable to feel the sharp edges of the shore beneath us. — Julianna Miner

Essay Published with Zibby Owens

2021-10-08T12:55:00.000-04:00

I was delighted that Zibby Owens and her wonderful team published one of my essays in the online magazine Moms Don't Have Time to Write. I met Zibby in 2020 when Estelle Erasmus (the fairy godmother or freelance writers everywhere) asked us both to speak on a virtual panel at NYU's J-school during the pandemic. Zibby then very generously invited me to be on her podcast, an opportunity I'm still grateful for (even though I flubbed it).

You can find my essay in its entirety here. I have to say (blushes modestly), I'm really proud of this one and I hope you like it.

MDHTTW commissioned artwork by the very talented Rebecca deAraujo

A Twilight Walk Down Memory Lane

It may have been because the sun had just set. Or maybe it was the effect of the street lamp or the new spring grass that was so absurdly, verdantly green that it didn’t look real. The air was quickly cooling and the purple-tinged sky was dotted with stars. It was beautiful. Surreal. A little trippy, actually. My little corner of the world felt somehow altered.

My neighbors were out in their yard blasting Dave Matthews Band as I walked my dogs. “Under the Table and Dreaming” began to play and I was suddenly overcome with what it felt like to be nineteen again.

I breathed deeply. It’s spring, it’s freedom, it’s Friday night. It’s the tangible feeling of being on the cusp of summer. The surging, exciting uncertainty of what might happen tonight, because something in the air makes it feel like something will happen. It’s intoxicating. I felt almost buzzed, but better — drunk on the ephemeral magic of being young.

In that moment, I was transported. This type of nostalgia is rooted in more than just a longing for bygone days. It is a neurological phenomenon that almost feels like time travel, and though it was brief — it was wonderful.

I remember when Friday nights always felt like that, so full of possibility. Not knowing what the night could bring, who I might run into. The careful deliberations of what to wear. The hyperawareness of how I would be perceived. The intense scrutiny I gave to every aspect of my body. The hope that I would be seen, admired, pursued. The anticipation was a tangible, delicious ball of warmth in my belly. The thrill of the chase and the agony of rejection out there, waiting.

It all felt like scenes in a movie. A certain song playing at a party was a soundtrack and an omen. I could meet someone’s eyes, see them smile, and wonder if it would be a beginning, the night my whole life would change. Every party was like walking onto a new stage, a new performance, another opportunity for something to happen. I was both fully present and fully detached, observing everything.

Those nights would generally end with friends and laughs, Marlboro Reds and carbs. After such meticulous grooming, we’d wind up smelling like cigarettes, breath mints, and gas station food. Mascara, lipstick, and painful self-consciousness long gone, we’d smile our real smiles, forget that we were supposed to be holding in our stomachs, and relax into the evening’s denouement. We’d lounge around, carefully deconstructing everything that happened. We’d imagine various alternate outcomes, infer meaning where there was none, and bemoan the subjects of our fascination who did not, in turn, find us fascinating.

Looking back on the rare occasions where I was seen and pursued, the anticipation of what might happen was far more satisfying than anything that actually did. In fact, those encounters are notably lacking anything close to my own satisfaction. Though to be honest, I’m not sure that was my goal. I was satisfied to be pursued, not the other way around. I wanted to be wanted.

As I got a little older, I was often in a relationship but the buzz of the weekend would still consume me. I was happy to ride the wave and see where the nights would take us. We might go hear a band, or drink beer in someone’s back yard, or find ourselves wandering around in the city, praying we wouldn’t miss the last train home.

Sometime in my early twenties, the allure of Friday night gradually succumbed to the exhaustion of the week. I went from a student to an adult with a job; from girlfriend to wife. There were fewer moments where my life felt like a movie. It was a little disappointing, but other things made up for it. My weekends may have been less exciting, but they were infinitely more satisfying. Real life, instead of a performance. Real connection, rather than my imagination.

The recollections became more scarce until I barely thought about it at all. It’s been a long time since those nights found me. I know now they were never meant to last; they were meant to remember.

Those peaks came with valleys I have no desire to revisit. I don’t think you can ever have one without the other. The dark basements of my youth are filled with memories both good and bad. The loud music, smelly couches, and sticky floors can seem ominous now. Friday night was a siren song; a cunning whisper of what could be. Sometimes the whisper turned into a warning. A siren blaring, blue lights flashing, telling you the party’s over and nothing good will happen here. After all, weekends are always followed by Mondays, and sometimes by shame and regret.

There’s a neurological explanation for why all these vivid memories and feelings have stuck with me for so many years. It’s called “the reminiscence bump.” When we reach late adolescence, our developing brains produce more dopamine receptors than we’ve ever had before — and perhaps more importantly — than we’ll ever have again.

The experiences we have during that time — riding around town with our friends, windows down and music blaring, first kisses, late-night ice cream — create these intense, visceral memories. They do so because the pleasure they evoked hit a peak that’s impossible to forget or surpass. We had never felt anything so intensely. And we likely never will again.

Read the rest here!

A Eulogy for the Tooth Fairy

2020-10-15T16:58:00.000-04:00

Note: I found this post deep in my drafts folder today. It's never been published before. I wrote this six years ago, about the daughter who is now a senior in high school. I'm fine. It's fine. I just need to cry it out.

--------------------------------------------

Last night, my oldest child lost her last baby tooth. It showed me everything I needed to know about who she is right now. In spite of knowing the truth about the Tooth Fairy (sort of), she wrote her a note to say goodbye, and thank you.

I say that she "sort of" knows about the Tooth Fairy because while I suspect she is aware of the truth, she hasn't talked about it. Perhaps because she knows once the gig is up, the dollars-for-teeth exchange will end and she dearly loves dollars. And certainly, other sixth graders would not hesitate to enlighten her on the true nature of the mythical, gift-giving characters she has grown up loving. They probably already have. But there's more to it than that. I think she wants to believe because she knows, at least for a little while longer, that she still can.

She avoids discussing any of this with me. Ostensibly because of her little brother and sister and the happiness they derive from it, but also because she's aware that there is power in not saying some things out loud. I think she stays silent because she knows that once it's openly acknowledged - it becomes real. An immutable fact. If she says it out loud, a beloved part of her childhood will truly be over. She isn't ready for that. Neither am I.

But we both know it's coming.

Next year she goes to middle school, which I remember vividly as being perhaps the third deepest pit in hell. I've tried not to let my worry about the next couple of years hit her radar too much. Is she ready for it? I honestly don't know. Her experience, like the rest of her childhood, will be very different than mine. By the time I was in sixth grade, I was a cynical little shit who read bad romance novels and rolled her eyes at the world.

But that's next year, and her note is about precisely right now. I want to appreciate right now, hold it gently in my hands and savor it, until it flutters away towards the future, all on it's own.

As I read her note to the Tooth Fairy last night, I felt feverish and lightheaded. It was because of all the love. It was like that moment in the hospital the day she was born. My love for her hit me like a brick in the face. I slowly walked out of her bedroom, my hands shaking, my eyes stinging. Her dad was away on a business trip, which was extremely inconvenient because I needed him at that moment. He is the only other person in the world who gets it. Who sees her and gets it. And I knew that he would read the note and we would look at each other and know.

Because one tiny page of lavender paper had almost magically captured who our daughter is at this moment in her life. She is smart, kind, appreciative, and respectful. She always wants to do what is right. Not all the time, but enough that it makes it hard not to shower with her everything she wants and needs. Because she is so grateful for it all and gives us so much back. She's imperfect and those imperfections make us love her harder. She's a little awkward sometimes, finding herself floating between who she is in her head and who she is in the world. She is mature and responsible, yet remarkably, almost obliviously innocent. She's tough and she will fight you but dear lord, she's so sweet and vulnerable. She is so fiercely loved by all of us.

The Tooth Fairy responded to her note. It was loving but brief, as there was very little room left on that small, lavender page. I'm not sure the Tooth Fairy really knew how to respond. Maybe the Tooth Fairy wishes she'd had a little more time to prepare. How do you say goodbye to such a sweet, silly, precious girl? To this part of her childhood, knowing that once it's over there is no going back? Maybe if the Tooth Fairy thought about it all too much, she would get really emotional and need to sit down.

But after a few minutes, I think the Tooth Fairy would calm herself down and stop crying. I think she'd sigh and do those quick exhales and hand flaps that signal she's getting it together. She'd realize that what she wrote back to the girl is not really that important. It was the girl, who all on her own, wrote a note of thanks - a eulogy of sorts for the Tooth Fairy - or at least a goodbye to the time where she was needed. The girl seems ready to move forward. The Tooth Fairy, however, maybe needs some more time before she's ready to flutter unsteadily towards the future.

(c) Mommyland Blogs 2013-2020

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Just a reminder about aggressively happy fall fun...

2020-10-09T16:58:00.001-04:00

This is some bullshit right here, you should know that now. The little boy is about to drop that heavy ass pumpkin on his dad's foot, who will scream the f-word in front of a bunch of other's people's kids, and they will all glare at him like he's a monster. The boy will cry for at least 20 minutes because the pumpkin broke and the dad will be furious because his foot is throbbing and the broken pumpkin costs $23. Meanwhile, the sister will whine that her brother "ALWAYS RUINS EVERYTHING" and their mom will hang her head because she just wanted one freaking good photo to post on freaking Facebook. Many hours later, she will sit down with a glass of wine and review the photos she took at the pumpkin patch. She will be in exactly two of them and her eyes will be closed in both. The end.

Friends,

It is October. It is the time of cable-knit sweaters and puffy vests (that let's be honest are always too hot unless you have a fairly serious circulation problem or live in Maine). It is also the time of aggressively happy and attractive outdoor family photos. 

When you see all the social media posts this weekend showing beautiful families apple picking and pumpkin patching, just remember what the photos don't show. 

One kid calling his brother a butthole, the other kid crying and refusing to walk up the hill, the sullen teenager staring at their phone the whole time, the dad being like "Wait, these apples cost HOW MUCH?" and the increasingly frustrated mom whisper-hissing "Smile or no one is getting donuts."

It's fine, you're fine, they're fine. 

Remember, it's a highlight reel, not real life. It's capturing precious f&*king family memories for posterity and that's awesome. And your family is awesome, too.

Love, Julie

(c) Mommyland Blogs 2013-2020

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Raise your hand if you're a life-ruining monster

2020-10-06T17:18:00.002-04:00

This beautiful lady is raising both hands, with a terrific smile, because she's ruined TWO KIDS' lives by making them do homework and keeping them safe, healthy and fed - all while working her ass off and homeschooling them, trapped in the house for months on end during a divisive and terrifying election season and a global pandemic. What an asshole!

Hello friends. 

Raise your hand if you personally have ruined your child's life by making them (choose all that apply):
Attend in-person school
Attend school via distance learning
Cruelly make them social distance/stay home of because of a deadly global pandemic
Force them to leave the house/deal with other people because your area is out of code red or whatever
Try to manage whatever this shitshow of a year has thrown at your family

No. 
Wait. 
Stop. 
Go ahead and put that hand down. 

I've recently been informed that it's all my fault and all my doing, so you guys can rest easy. I'm the asshole here. 

Kind of exciting to find out that I'm some sort of all-powerful omniscient deity that can like - cause global pandemics and million-acre wildfires and stuff. Good to know. And here I was feeling bad about myself because I can't get the laundry done. HA HA HA PROBABLY BECAUSE I WAS BUSY RUINING EVERYONE'S LIFE BY MAKING THEM EAT VEGETABLES AND GO TO BED ON TIME.

(wipes tear)

Kids are fun.

Love, Julie

The Ten Year Challenge

2020-01-02T17:31:00.000-05:00

The most recent social media trend appears to be reflecting deeply on the past decade and speculating on the personal growth that will occur during the next. This started last month with something called the "Ten Year Challenge.” Here's how that one worked: you find a photo of yourself from 2009 and compare it to a photo from 2019. This was supposed to demonstrate to the world your weight loss, or your progressive journey to total enlightenment, or possibly to provide our big data overlords with opportunities for their nefarious facial recognition efforts.

I'm ashamed to say I succumbed to online pressure and began looking through pictures from 2009. A search of our photo library for that year shows approximately 4,326 photos of my children, 398 of my pets, 47 of my husband (usually with our kids piled on him), and maybe 4 of me. I'd just given birth to my third baby in five years and I was exhausted and deep in The Blur. In most pictures, I'm either hiding from the camera or looking really confused about what the hell was going on.

At that time, I hated having my picture taken because I wasn't as pretty or skinny as I'd been when I was young. I lived comfortably for many years in a sweet spot on the spectrum of female attractiveness. I was pretty enough to be reliably appealing, but not so outstanding as to incite the envy or resentment of others. I could make myself appear more or less attractive as the situation called for. I worked hard to look good, to seem good. This has always been expected of women, just ask Ceasar's wife.

Ten years have made things both better and worse. My daughters are at the forefront of a generation for whom technology has made both appearances and your actual appearance an easily quantifiable competition. I don't think they understand how truly messed up that is, or how potentially damaging. They know no different world. This did not really exist ten years ago.

Like many teenagers who came before them, they’ll look in the mirror at their objectively gorgeous reflections and see only the faults. It's a design flaw in humans that we're at our most beautiful when we're also so easily influenced by the validation of others, self-focused rather than self-aware. Technology doesn't help these tendencies, it amplifies them.

They’ll see photos of themselves and edit them, filter them, removing the perceived imperfections that make them human. Then they present themselves in a careful collage of images where it’s more important to seem than to be.

I get it. It’s a function of being young. I grew up feeling my value linked in small and subtle ways to how I looked. My basic attractiveness enhanced every accomplishment, making me seem more worthy of praise, of being shown off, of making people proud.

Ten years ago, I was a sleep-deprived, overweight mother of three kids age five and under. I knew I would never again be a woman whose looks added a glossy shine to who she really was, reflecting light back on those around her. But there wasn't time to think about what it meant, there were only brief pauses in the perpetual motion machine of our family's life to feel weird about it. To avoid the camera and the evidence of how much I’d changed.

I'm not sure when it happened over the last decade, but acceptance of this evolved into something else. Something that felt like relief, or possibly release. Release from the prison of impossible expectations. Freedom to focus on things that matter more and last longer. A lot has been written about how many women feel increasingly invisible as they age, but the opposite has been true for me.

So many of the positive changes in my life have come as a result of social media and the internet, where we're rewarded for having lives that are performative. I started a blog in 2009, and ten years later I’m a published author. Blogging taught me that to be seen, I had to make myself known. It’s scary to share parts of yourself, to risk rejection and censure. It’s probably not a coincidence that I only started to write, to take real risks, when I could no longer hide behind the glossy, suffocating mask of youth.

The Ten Year Challenge spurred me to look for pictures of myself from 2019. Again, I found thousands of pictures of my kids, hundreds of my dogs, lots of my handsome husband, and to my surprise - quite a few of myself. I still don't love how I look in photos, but I'm there.

For better or worse, you can see me now.

(c) Mommyland Blogs 2013-2019

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Raising a Screen Smart Kid on NPR

2019-11-11T18:40:00.001-05:00

I loved doing this interview with Dan Skinner of Kansas Public Radio!

http://kansaspublicradio.org/blog/dan-skinner/conversations-julianna-miner-raising-screen-smart-kid

(c) Mommyland Blogs 2013-2014

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Raising A Screen Smart Kid in The New York Times

2019-09-10T14:35:00.001-04:00

Very excited to share that "Raising a Screen Smart Kid" was mentioned in The New York Times for the second time this year! This article by the incredible Jessica Lahey (author of The Gift of Failure) is outstanding and refers readers to my ideas on cell phone contracts.

Find the article here!

(c) Mommyland Blogs 2013-2019

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Good Day DC Interview

2019-08-26T13:38:00.000-04:00

Other than the fact that my hair is super weird, this is a great interview with the folks at Good Day DC (Fox 5 DC). Check it out!

(c) Mommyland Blogs 2013-2019

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Good Kids and Dumb Choices - It's normal

2019-07-18T13:48:00.001-04:00

"It's critical to remember that every child, no matter how smart and responsible, will make mistakes... Making mistakes and learning how to deal with the consequences of our choices are key developmental lessons all kids need to learn."

-Chapter 1, Raising a Screen Smart Kid

This post is just a quick reminder that even the best kids are going to do some really dumb stuff sometimes - it's called "growing up." It doesn't make them bad people and doesn't make you a bad parent.

Make a mistake? Take responsibility, learn from it, move forward. Online and in-person - same rules apply.

And for the record, we all did a ton of dumb stuff when we were kids, too. Only we weren't doing it when literally everyone around us could record and document all of our adolescent stupidity for posterity.

((Quickly crosses self and thanks baby Jesus for this, as was an enormous idiot as a teenager))

Love, Julie

Quick Q & A: Should I let my kid start posting on Youtube?

2019-07-16T15:42:00.000-04:00

Q: My daughter (age 9) wants to post a video of her teaching someone how to paint a picture of a chicken. It's super cute and totally appropriate, but I'm afraid of comments from trolls and wondering if she is too young to post. What do you think?

A: In all likelihood, the people who are going to be watching and sharing your 9 year old's video are going to be your friends and family. Could it go viral and garner a lot of attention? Sure! Anything is possible, but it's unlikely.

That being said, I also get why you're concerned. Youtube comments can go from totally friendly to really nasty in the blink of an eye. If it's just comments you're worried about, you can always disable them. Also, If the feedback starts to get weird and trollish, you can delete the video or make it private. I would also take a look at other videos that are similar to the one she's going to share, read the feedback they've gotten, and see how you both feel about it.

It could be a really fun experience for your kid (and you) to make a video and share it. I think it's awesome when kids use screen time to create content rather than just consume it. That doesn't mean everyone is going to love it and that's ok.

I once gave one of my own kids the business because they (and their friend) got a little snotty about a classmates' Youtube channel. While I understood zero of what was being discussed in the video I watched and am therefore totally unqualified to say if it was any good, that wasn't even relevant to me. I got extraordinarily huffy, and then all caps told them: "DON'T YOU EVEN SAY POOPY WORDS ABOUT THAT VIDEO BECAUSE THAT KID IS AT LEAST CREATING SOMETHING AND IS BRAVE ENOUGH TO PUT IT OUT THERE AND YOU ARE JUST SITTING AROUND NOT CREATING AND POOPING ON OTHER'S PEOPLE BRAVE CREATIONS WHICH IS NOT COOL."

My child was delighted with my outburst, as I'm sure you can imagine.

I think it's super cool that your daughter wants to make something and share it. Putting yourself out there is always a little risky, but it's also a really great chance to learn about yourself and get better at something. She may also connect with other kids who love painting pictures of chickens, and that would also be really cool, as I imagine those kids are pretty great.

If she decides to post it, prepare her for some blowback even though it may never come. Maybe all the feedback will be super positive. And you know what? If it is, then talk about not getting caught up in a feedback cycle where that affirmation means more than the act of making something you're proud of and sharing it with others.

Good luck and I am off to google how to paint chickens!

Oh hey! Here's a link to pre-order #RaisingAScreenSmartKid, out 7/23: https://tinyurl.com/y4ajtzfq

This is the year of me doing things.

2019-06-18T16:38:00.000-04:00

You know how I said this was the year of me doing stuff? So far I have:

His scruff touched my face. Also, he's really nice
and very tall and his wife is beautiful.

Taken ninja lessons with 5 of my friends and earned my white belt,
Did an ice luge shot and then rode a mechanical bull,
Embraced my love of inappropriate lady novels (THE LIST IS HERE AND IT'S GOT EVERYTHING)
Went to Texas by myself to a conference and came home with several really good new friends and having briefly snuggled Jared Padelecki,
Wrote a second book that is wildly personal,
Got invited to work out w a former UFC fighter at his gym (we met at the Verizon store and we talked about his sweet fiancee and their house hunt and more on this later),
Mercilessly pranked my neighbors in an ongoing squirmish, and
I'm going to see Air Supply on Friday probably dressed in full 80's gear.

But... there's more and I'm legit losing the very last of my shit right now. I'm supposed to be in a "Mom Squad" number at my daughter's dance recital this weekend. This dance studio is filled with literally the nicest people in the world and we've been rehearsing for a month but last week I forgot everything and now it's like I'm broken and I. Can. Not. Dance. At. All.

Because dancing is hard and choreography is hard and coordination is hard and remembering what to do with your arms is hard and I want to quit but I can't because I am the dumbass who talked everyone into it ("This is the year we do stuff, guys!!") and now it's could be just very unfortunate for me.

So I guess what I'm saying is that it's fun to do new things but also terrifying and being brave also means feeling totally ridiculous.

Welcome to summer. It's feral here. And there's a squid.

2019-06-13T16:52:00.000-04:00

The school year is over. The transition to summer has begun. For the first time in 11 years, we're not doing summer swim. This means that instead of becoming feral, schedule-less garanimals in late July - that happens now.

One of the Rants Fam from FB drew this
and it is the most beautiful thing in the
whole entire fucking world.

This is occurring in combination with the inexplicable mood swings, tears, and crankypants that accompany any major transition in my house. The only thing that seems to help with this is my children and their friends eating $459 worth of groceries every 3 days.

Meanwhile, I'm trying to figure out how to work from home full time while having no discipline and a procrastination problem that if anthropomorphized would be a drunken, angry squid who likes to slap me with his slappy tentacles while also screeching Duran Duran songs off-key in my left ear.

Oh and I have a book coming out in about a month so nothing to stress about there except being a total public failure in front of God, the internet, and everyone I know. Especially considering it's a book about kids and tech and being "screen smart" and my response to this situation is that every child in my house (currently 5) are staring at some sort of screen so I can load the dishwasher and type this.

Just thought I'd share some realness with you in case you were feeling like you needed to compare favorably with someone who definitely does not have their shit together. You're doing better than you think and way better than me. Happy summer and I love your face today - you look well-rested and attractive.

xo, Julie

Second Deathaversary

2019-05-21T16:57:00.000-04:00

Today is the second deathiversary of my little brother's passing and I'm still feeling messy and ugly about it. I've decided to focus on a few things that losing him taught me.

*Grief is built to last and it shows up in really weird ways when you really don't expect it. Like a punch right in the damn face when you're at a stoplight and the wrong song comes on. It sucks but there it is.

*I will remember the best of him because he would've done that for me.

*My sister and I will likely spend too much time for the rest of our lives wondering if something could have changed this outcome. If we had a time machine, what is the exact moment that we could go back to, make a change and create an alternate timeline where he would still be here and be ok? We know this isn't useful. We will do it anyway.

*Mental illness is made about a million times worse by self-medicating. When life is genuinely shitty, that's when you should be NOT be drinking.

*I will love certain people harder and I will let certain people go.

Here's a bird finger to death for taking him at 30 and to addiction and mental illness and the breast cancer that took his mom when he was too young to handle it.

Here's an awkwardly long hug for anyone else dealing with ugly, messy, dirty grief.

DAY 3 HOME ALONE STATUS UPDATE

2019-04-13T16:01:00.002-04:00

I chose this photo because 90% of what I now consume now
are Annie's frozen organic burritos and microwaved coffee.

DAY THREE OF BEING HOME ALONE

(meaning yesterday, but posting late as have lost all sense of time):

Well, it happened on day 3. I started to miss them and found myself checking the locations of their iphones. They were taking a college tour at Baylor (teenage daughter loved it) and I was getting v. emotional about all of it. Was reaching for kleenex when I received 16 texts in a row from Mini telling me that her brother had LITERALLY SPRAYED HER WITH A HOSE and WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO ABOUT IT, MOMMY?

Nothing, sweet girl. Nothing at all.

I'm in Virginia and you're in Texas and your dad is *right there* and I'm 1,100 miles away drinking iced coffee, eating a frozen burrito in my stretchy pants at 2pm, suddenly feeling really good about my alone time again. Thank you for that refreshing dose of perspective, my angel.

I also had breakfast with my friend and we talked about each other's books that we're working on and it was so helpful and encouraging and it makes me want to tell all of you TO GET OUT THERE AND DO SOMETHING OUT OF YOUR COMFORT ZONE THIS YEAR LIKE WRITE A SHITTY BOOK OR GET A GREEN BELT IN KARATE OR LEARN GERMAN OR TAKE AN EMT CLASS.

Then after I all got all excited and motivated, I fell asleep on the couch.

When I woke up, I tried to write some serious and important work that I have procrastinated for weeks but I couldn't because my ADHD brain was like: "You should have more iced coffee and read about the different neuro-biological processes driving attachment and attraction in mammals. That is a good idea. Do that."

Then I had surf and turf for dinner with my friend Kimberley, dressed in a ridiculous outfit while totally unshowered and gross, but whatever - we had a great time and my steak was DELICIOUS.

Then I evaluated 50 scholarship essays and watched season 2 of The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina because my sister told me to.

Overall, being left behind my family is still outstanding. Still would recommend for all peoples. Still 14/10.

Quoted in the Sunday NYT

2019-04-12T13:59:00.000-04:00

I'm really, really excited about being quoted twice in an article about sharing things on Facebook that will be in this Sunday's print edition of The New York Times. The piece was written by KJ Dell'Antonia whose podcast #AmWriting I am a huge fan of.

“I have definitely seen an evolution toward sharing less,” said Julianna Miner, an adjunct professor of global and community health at George Mason University and the author of the forthcoming “Raising a Screen-Smart Kid: Embrace the Good and Avoid the Bad in the Digital Age.” She added, “It’s hard to tell if the changes are a response to the security breaches, or a result of people just getting tired of it.”

and

“There’s plenty of evidence that interpersonal, face-to-face interactions yield a stronger neural response than anything you can do online,” said Ms. Miner. “Online empathy is worth something to us, but not as much. It takes something like six virtual hugs to equal one real hug.”

The article is here!

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Review of the After Movie - Which everyone should go see right now. Thank you.

2019-04-11T23:45:00.001-04:00

REVIEW OF THE AFTER MOVIE BY SOMEONE WHO IS TOO TIRED TO PROOFREAD HER OWN SHIT:

I just saw the #Aftermovie and I have a lot of feelings and emotions right now. They are very real and you need to respect them even though I am an adult woman and perhaps this is not the best use of my time.

For those of you who don't know, this movie is based on a series of YA books by Anna Todd that were originally on a story-sharing app called Watpad, where they got over a BILLION reads and were eventually snatched up by Simon & Schuster and published to enormous sales over the past five years.

Let's start with the positives: There's great casting! And gender-swapping of characters! There's more diversity! Landon, for example, is now black and is a precious, handsome, nerdy angel and Tristan is a v. hot gay girl. All good things.

Hardin and Tessa are great - thank you, baby lemur, because that could have gone either way. Tessa is exactly as I imagined her, down to the JC Penney wardrobe and pouty lips. Hardin* is perfect but for the lack of correct tattoos and piercings, which did not bother me but was EXTREMELY UPSETTING to the young super fans who were debriefing after the movie with me.

He is also far too nice, which was very disappointing. He is supposed to be a cruel and heartless dickhead and instead, he's like a young, black t-shirt wearing Mr. Darcy, unpleasant and rude, but too hot for those things to matter very much.

#Hessa has excellent chemistry which is the only reason the movie works, and you will know this because almost the entire film is comprised of slow-motion shots of them open mouth kissing to emotional lady rock. This leaves very little time for things like plot and character development and pacing.

BUT JULIE, WHY ARE YOU WHINING ABOUT LITERARY DEVICES IN A MOVIE THAT IS BASED ON TWILIGHT/50 SHADES/ONE DIRECTION FAN FICTION? First of all, I don't appreciate your tone. I love this shit. Second of all, those books are all about pacing - dropping random WTF moments, infuriating plot turns, and a frankly excessive amount of female orgasms. Sadly, none of those things are in the movie but it is PG-13, so I get it.

BUT IS THE MOVIE GOOD? I mean, kind of. I will probably have to watch it like three more times before I can decide for sure. If you've read the books, it doesn't matter what I think. You have to see the movie. You also have to like it or you're expelled from the fandom. It's legally required and you don't want to break the law, do you?

If you haven't read the books and you go to the movies to support your weird friend (like Tracy and Angela did for me tonight), then you will likely walk out of the theatre somewhere between "That had potential, sweetie, but there was a lot I didn't understand" and "What the hell was that? No for real, what did I just see?"

That last one was Tracy and while I'm grateful for her loyalty and friendship tonight, her attitude is unappreciated. That group of teenage superfans I mentioned earlier? They had a Tracy, too and she was not impressed and was also a little unkind and judgemental about how upset the rest of us were. So don't be a Tracy, is basically what I'm saying.

So should you see this movie? YES. Because it needs to make enough money that they will make a second movie, and so on. Did we really need four Twilight movies?* DID WE? Yes, of course we did. Don't be stupid. So go see this movie immediately. Thank you.

Your friend,
Julie

*You may recognize this young man as Tom Riddle from the orphanage in the HP movies and is also the real-life nephew of the actor who plays Voldemort. ANY CONNECTION TO HP IS AMAZING AND YOU KNOW THAT SO JUST SHUT UP ABOUT IT.

*My friend Harlow just informed there were FIVE Twilight movies. Pretty sure I knew that. Breaking Dawn was the size of the NY/NJ yellow pages we used to get every year when I was a child (so it was made into two movies and there was some weird CGI stuff, as I remember). But also to be clear, I also loved that shit. Twilight, not the yellow pages.

Home Alone Status Update Day 2

2019-04-11T13:24:00.001-04:00

Me today: hair jacked up, still in PJ's, no shower

Day 2 of being home alone status report:

Yesterday I ate sushi for dinner on my couch while re-watching season 3 of Game of Thrones in stretchy pants, ponytail & no bra, as I received this advice in the comments of my FB status ("If you're wearing a bra, you're doing it wrong." --> YOU ARE ALL VERY WISE AND HAVE SO MUCH TO TEACH ME, THIS WAS 100% RIGHT).

I also read two books by Harper Kincaid (who I know in real life and is delightful and really knows how to take flattering selfies), made many to do lists, sent emails, did research, and drank electrolyte water - all on the couch while watching GoT.

Then I slept for 12 hours, only waking up because the dogs were like "WHAT THE ACTUAL F**K IS HAPPENING HOOMAN ARE YOU DEADS?"

So far today I've had 3 cups of hot coffee (hot!), eaten leftover California rolls, and one frozen Annie's quinoa burrito because I'm still in my PJ's and don't want to get dressed or leave my house. I also read an entire book about werewolves on Wattpad.

Tonight I am going to dinner and a movie with my lovely friend who does not judge me for needing to see After on opening night like a huge dork. Then I'm going to come home and grade essays.

I am living my best life. I've only had 3 very small panic attacks that my family has been injured/maimed because we're not together which honestly, is really good. Teenage daughter claimed she would miss me terribly but has not returned a single text.

This is working out really great so far, I strongly recommend for all peoples. 14/10

xoxo, Julie

I am Kevin McAllister. Day One.

2019-04-11T13:19:00.001-04:00

My husband took our children to the great state of Texas for five days for Spring Break. I must stay here, at home, because I have to teach and work. This happens every year, the university where I teach usually has their spring break a month before my kids' rolls around. This means I'm not really able to travel and my kids sullenly accept that we are stuck at home for a week, slowly growing more and more irritated with each other because there is nothing to do.

But this year, I am at home alone in the manner of Kevin McAllister for almost five whole days. I have lots of deadlines and work to do BUT OMG THIS HAS NEVER HAPPENED TO ME BEFORE I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH MYSELF.

I have a list of non-work related things I want to do:

*Read many, many trashy books and a couple of good ones
*Not cook or clean any of the things
*So many naps
*Go see the new After movie if I can find any other adults who will go with me, even if they haven't read the books
*Go to yoga
*Order take-out, repeat daily
*Watch what I want on the big TV

(also what should I watch because I always end up watching the same shit again and again)

(update: Can't watch Netflix because Mini lost the remote for the big TV that allows it to toggle between cable and Netflix/Amazon Prime and now I am desolate.)

(update: Is fine because Game of Thrones premiere is this weekend so will just rewatch old seasons)

*Not have weird, periodic panic attacks about the safety of my family because they are away from me

(update have only had a couple)

What should I add to this list? Help! I need to make the most of this special, special time!

xoxo, Julie

Texting fun with Teenagers

2019-03-14T18:20:00.000-04:00

This morning in the group chat I have with my three kids:

Me: Kids, I'm in meetings all morning so unless its life or death, I can't respond to your texts.

Kid: Ok

Other kids: (since does not have to do with food, money or rides, ignores message)

Kid: (during meetings) Mom mom MOM MOM MOMMMMM MOM MOM.

Mom: (thinking surely I can ignore message, as said earlier would be in meetings)

Kid: MOOOMM mom mom MOM

Mom: (growing concern and unease) What?! In a meeting!

Kid: Oh right. Nevermind.

This afternoon:

Kid: Pick me up by the smoothie place?

Mom: When?

Mom: (30 mins later) When?

Mom: (60 mins later) CHILD WHEN DO YOU NEED A RIDE?

Kid: (23 minutes later) Right now.

Kid: (3 seconds later) How much longer?

Kid: (4 seconds later) When are you coming?

THIS IS MY LIFE TEXTING MAKES EVERYTHING SO MUCH EASIER.

Most recent article for Washington Post

2019-01-18T12:20:00.002-05:00

Every time I have a piece accepted by the Washington Post's OnParenting section, it's a thrill. I was especially happy about this one because I've spent the past two years researching the digital lives of our kids. This article gave me the opportunity to integrate that research with some important parenting conversations we should all be having with our tweens and teens.

I also love this piece because it's a great peek into what my upcoming book is going to be like. Have I mentioned that book?

It's called "Raising a Screen Smart Kid: Embrace the Good and Avoid the Bad in the Digital Age" and it will be published by Tarcher Perigee/Penguin Random House in late summer 2019.

Here's a link to the article! https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/parenting/wp/2018/09/06/how-to-use-eighth-grade-to-jump-start-some-important-conversations-with-your-teen/?utm_term=.0720f3242ce0

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One Year Later

2018-05-20T18:11:00.000-04:00

My father called me one year ago today and told me that my bother had killed himself. I believed it without hesitation. My brother was 30 years old. We weren’t close but at the time of his death, but things looked like they might be getting better between us.

He was incredibly smart and had earned an undergraduate degree in physics engineering. He joined the volunteer fire department when he was 18 and at one time was the youngest fire officer in the State of Maine. He had dark blue eyes. He watched his mother slowly die over the course of three long years. He lost her when he was 21 and she was 53. It was breast cancer. His grief stayed with him. He was mentally ill and recently sober. He both sobered up and got diagnosed in jail. He was depressed and schizophrenic.

We found out after his death that Chris died of a pulmonary thromboembolism. He was sitting at his computer and it knocked him off his chair. Nothing anyone could have done would have saved him. This information has done little to change my absolute certainty that my brother took his life. I know that doesn't make sense.

You must understand that Chris did not commit suicide. You must also understand the subtle difference between suicide and killing yourself. He killed himself, little by little, drink by drink, every day for fifteen years. Nuance.

Every time we spoke in the five years leading up to his death, we got on each other’s nerves. I would ask him when he was going to get his shit together and he would get defensive. He wanted to control the conversation, the narrative. He might have wanted money, though he never directly asked for it. He wanted me to accept his version of how things were and not to ask him to clarify the details. But his version was not acceptable to me. It made no sense. It was a story he told himself. I would push back and tell him he was better than that, and he told me I knew nothing about his life and would find a reason to hang up the phone.

And he was right, and every year that passed I knew less and less about his life because I refused to participate in his delusion that everything was fine. That it wasn't just one act of self-destruction after another.

I didn't fight for him. I let him go and hoped he'd come back.

He didn't. He kept drinking and he became someone I didn't know and now he's dead.

That was the end of his life. The beginning was not like that. He was a fat and happy baby, wanted and loved and celebrated, born the summer before I started high school. I remember what it felt like to make him laugh and to see his tiny face relax in my arms as he drifted off to sleep. He loved to be held. His mother believed in attachment parenting before that was really a thing. They were very close. She understood him and helped him feel understood. She was his champion.

Then she was sick. Then she was gone.

His daughter will never remember him now. She’ll only know what she’s told. She’ll look at pictures and try to see some resemblance to herself. My own children see his picture and ask “Who is that guy again?” They don’t remember him, only his arrests and erratic behavior and how the news of these things reduced their mother to a weeping and neurotic wreck.

I look at my sweet, sandy-haired children and see my little brother in them. And fear starts to clutch at my heart. He was such a happy, beautiful kid.

I noticed something was off when he was in 6th or 7th grade. He hated school and was having trouble getting along with people. They switched schools. Eventually, they homeschooled. By 8th grade, things were worse. They moved to Maine because there was an alternative school there that was going to make things better.

That school would not fix the problem, but we didn't know that then.

I think many families chose that school because a more traditional educational environment wasn’t working for their kids and the normal high school experience wasn't a good fit. But when you find that you can’t relate even to the people who don’t fit in anywhere else, or more precisely that they can’t relate to you, it’s hard.

At first, the other kids found his combination of insecurity and bravado merely off-putting, but later he scared them. He was strong and intense. By sixteen he was drinking, doing drugs (all kinds), and fighting. Now I see those things for what they were - self-medication. At the time, I saw them as a series of shitty and reckless choices. Probably they were both.

I now have three children. I now understand how hard it is to keep someone safe who is determined to be reckless. But I wish we could've stopped it then. Made him sober up. Insist he get help, even if he refused to go, because this was not normal teenage behavior. This was the start of the darkness working its way into my brother's life. Once it started creeping in, it quickly took hold. The next year his mother got sick and the entire house became consumed by her cancer and trying to save her life.

Of course, there was nothing we could've done to stop that either, but we didn't know it then.

There were stretches where we allowed ourselves to believe the light would creep back in. We told ourselves stories about how it was all going to be ok. His senior project was brilliant, we said, the best the school has seen in years. He's so motivated now. Let's pretend it was all just a phase. Thank God he's outgrown all that.

When he was nineteen, he got a DUI. In Maine, if you go ten years without another incident the DUI can be wiped from your record. Nine years and nine months later he got a second DUI. He was a father by then. This was also the year before he died when things started to really unravel. When no one could pretend anymore. When we could no longer tell ourselves stories about how things were and about who Chris was.

You see, we have this thing in my family where the personal mythology we weave about who we are - about who we are told that we are - becomes more important than the truth. We are told stories about ourselves and then we become the storytellers, and then the stories become our history and our identity.

I no longer trust these mythologies. I'm re-learning who I think we are.

This is not beautiful grief where you feel longing, love, and deep sadness. Where neighbors bring you casseroles filled with kindness and noodles and express their empathy and love. I’ve felt grief like that and there is something pure about that kind of pain. This is different. This is dirty, angry grief. This is an old wound that never healed and has been ripped back open. This is too complicated and too shameful to be talked about, even with good friends. You wouldn’t understand what this feels like. You don’t want to know what we’re really thinking.

We could tell ourselves stories now. We could create a narrative that makes all this easier, that casts us all in a more rosy light, but it would be bullshit. It would be a capitulation to the stories we allowed ourselves to believe. That ended for me on the day of his funeral.

Here’s what I know to be true. My brother suffered enormous pain in his short life, and caused enormous suffering in others. He needed help for many years and when he didn’t get it, he got drunk to make himself feel better. He had a sensitive and kind soul and a brilliant mind, all of which were diminished by his illness and his choices. No matter what happened to him, I know that there was still so much good in him. He remains deeply loved.

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Hush hush, Julie. Voices Carry.

2018-03-15T08:50:00.000-04:00

I was just in the grocery store, which has recently and inexplicably started playing killer 80's music every time I'm there. Not like Billy Ocean (though "Get Out of My Dreams and Into My Car" is pretty solid and also something my husband and I frequently say to each other). The grocery store is playing bands like The Psychedelic Furs and Tears for Fears. I mean, its great stuff. These are the songs of my people.

So I'm there this morning and again, the music is the great. Upon hearing the end of Til Tuesday's (still amazing) "Voices Carry," I felt a visceral urge to belt out "HE SAID SHUT UP, HE SAID SHUT UP, OH GOD CAN'T YOU KEEP IT DOWN?!" right there among the salad greens and carrots.

But I realized that a 45-year woman suddenly scream-shouting these lyrics in the produce section, fueled by powerful emotion, might frighten the other shoppers. So I sang nothing. I kept it down because voices carry and it was TERRIBLY SAD. As I looked up from the baby spinach, I saw another GenX mom standing by the organic berries and our eyes met.

We nodded at each other with mutual understanding and began bobbing our heads in time to the last few measures of the song, in the universal manner of those who are not cool and cannot dance. I may have also thrown in a shoulder shimmy.

It was a beautiful moment of weirdo solidarity and I will always treasure it.

via GIPHY

#TilTuesday #VoicesCarry #Inthegrocerystore #Trytoactnormal

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