Mommy Athens: Daddy Sparta

I am perched on the side of the hotel room bed, my armpits prickling with sweat. Excitement and nervousness shiver through me. There is a knock at the door. My…

When we had been dating about a year, Daddy Sparta, my soldier/policeman husband, charmingly dubbed me “Scrumpshkin.” Then, to show the depths of his feelings for me, he re-cast MacArthur’s…

I met my policeman husband, Sparta, ten years ago, on January 12, 1996. We were set up on a blind lunch date in a café on Mission St. in San…

I am packing my four-year-old son’s swimsuit and fleece pants for our annual trip to Stanford Family Camp when he asks me, “Mommy, what happened that time you were at…

In the summer of 2004, soon after my miscarriage, my family moved for a year to Carlisle Barracks in Pennsylvania so Daddy Sparta — my soldier/policeman/husband — could study at…

Daddy Sparta is angry with me. There are very few things he holds sacred as men’s work, but I have managed to tread on hallowed ground. His exact words were,…

My father and my husband met once, years before I was acquainted with Sparta, the soldier/policeman I have since married. Sparta was — and still is — best friends with…

At home in Berkeley, California, it’s my husband, Daddy Sparta, the soldier/policeman, who is the outsider. On the days when he works at the Army Reserves, I can’t ask him…

I think of you, in the foyer of the world, waiting to come in. You are meant to be our child, just as the son born of my womb was…

This year Mama Athens and Daddy Sparta moved from ultra-liberal Berkeley to conservative central Pennsylvania so that Sparta could attend the Army War College. This in itself was hard to…

“Hello? Dr. Hamm?” My three-year-old son is riding his tricycle up the ramp of the post office. I can’t miss this call. “Niko, WAIT!” I yell. “Sophia, like my nurse…