This got my attention. The only other Surgeon General’s advisory I can think of is the one on cigarette cartons. But parenting? Is it true that parenting is hazardous to our health?

I thought it was a logical question to ask, because if there is such an age, I must surely be creeping up on it — if I hadn’t already slid past it.

I’m seeking advice on how to balance respecting her autonomy with ensuring her safety. Should I consider alternative caregiving options, or are there other strategies to address this concern?

Last year at this time, my husband and I were feeling overwhelmed. We were overscheduled, tired, and worried about money. From our conversations surrounding these problems, a theme emerged: we were getting lax. Undisciplined. We knew what we needed to do, but we weren’t bringing our A game.

I’ll admit that much of my love for fall is tied up in nostalgia, in memories that I will never relive again. Gone are the piles of elm leaves raked into the street and set ablaze, into which we kids would toss apples and potatoes, and then rake them from the ashes to eat, charred husks and all. I think that fragrant, savory memory is why I still like to toast bagels and English muffins almost black, until the smoke alarm threatens to squawk.

Although I hadn’t ridden a bike through most of my adulthood, pretty much every morning for the past couple years I take a ten-ortwelve-mile jaunt into the countryside, where I converse with the corn and cows if they’re in the mood to listen. Whatever trials await me later, I always find a sense of peace peddling the pavement at the start of the day.

The site is an older building and has housed several different restaurants during the past years. When walking in, there was a gigantic fish tank with lots of salt water fish swimming around (their sushi must be really fresh). There are a lot of steps to get into the restaurant and also into their dining area, so obviously this restaurant is not handicap accessible.

Mom is in her late 70s now, and while she’s always been incredibly independent and strong-willed, I’ve noticed a significant shift in her emotional well-being recently. She seems more anxious and restless, and it’s starting to affect her daily life. Small things that never used to bother her now seem to cause her a lot of stress, and I’m at a loss about how to help her through this.

That’s what my son called it when he phoned me to ask: “How you doin’ against the ‘vid?”

I had no idea what he was talking about, so I asked him — three times — what he said: “Are you saying ‘vid’? What the hell is a ‘vid’?” Something in the corner of my mind hinted that it might be a term having to do with gambling, but I hadn’t placed any bets lately. Or at least I didn’t remember if I had.

Of all the things that can be canceled or delayed or rescheduled — a meeting, a dentist appointment, even a tax deadline — a storm moving in, chased by thunder and lightning, refuses to bend to anyone else’s schedule. Between the curtains on the window over my sink is when I first see the trees swaying wildly in the wind, then notice that the late afternoon sun is lighting up a huge thunderhead cloud. Fluffy white columns billow higher and higher. Below it, a blanket of dark gray clouds moved in.

While we’re grateful for the assistance that home care provides, I must admit I’m quite new to this experience, and I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed about what to expect and how to best utilize the care services available to us.