Managing the logistics of death can also be a way to heal — This piece is part of How Google Drive Can Make Every Corner of Your Life Easier I’m a spreadsheety kind of person by nature. The tidy progression of columns and rows is comforting to me. …

In 20 years, I’ve had almost all women bosses. Here’s what I’ve learned (so far). — Somehow, thanks to magic or fate or luck or all three, I have worked for over 20 years without ever taking a job that didn’t report to a woman. To be clear and fair, there were some jobs where I reported to two bosses and one was female and the…

Fitter. Happier. More productive. There, robot worker drone, you’re fixed! — You know what would be great? If I weighed 30 pounds less, worked more efficiently, fought for justice, parented with patience, spent less money, and never experienced sadness, anger, frustration, or temptation. Hey, I know what I’ll do! I’ll just resolve to make that happen! First, I’ll decide that I’m…

Despite recent upgrades in technology, legislation, and cultural attitudes toward pumping breast milk, pumping still leaves much to be desired. — As a pumping mom, I had it comparatively easy. I could afford a pump and accessories, I had a dedicated place to pump (I called it Our Lady’s Hallowed Shrine of Liquid Boredom), and I had a boss who supported me. …

A four-step guide to cleaning out your parents’ house after they die — The first item on any list, my mom always said, should be to make a list. That way, you can cross something off immediately. When my mother died last year, she left her affairs well-organized — unsurprising, for someone with her talent for list-making. But after many months of declining…

And yet here we are — Do you have a flannel shirt on? Are you drinking a warm apple cider festooned with a cinnamon stick, or a pumpkin spice latte, or somehow both? Are you eating an actual caramel apple in an actual corn maze? Are you surrounded by pumpkins—just, like, absolutely hemmed in by them…

It could be the key to lessening your mental load. — I see you. At the playground, at pickup, at the soccer game or dance class. You’re the mom looking at her phone, flagrantly, in public, in a kid-related space, when you could be scrupulously watching your child every second, unblinking, until your eyes dry out. …

Pop’s letters from Vietnam remind me how fiercely he fought his demons — My father was a good man. I really think he was. But when I was growing up, he was also violent. Frightening. Depressed. Alcoholic, and not in a fun-at-parties way. Often mean. Sometimes racist, as liberal, left-voting white people can casually be. …