Eliana Osborn

I’m terrified of wrongful imprisonment. To be the only one who knows the truth and have to live every day in a cell, wondering, why, god, why? [...] Sitting hooked up for gadgets to monitor every aspect of my mind and body, in a small room without any distraction, I see how a person could lose herself — or the truth — for a moment.

I wanted to write a book last summer. Then I realized what a terrible goal that was and modified accordingly.

I’m full of emotions: pride, awe, fear, nerves. The spelling bee first, then the piano recital. Two different kids, same mom. Same me, wanting to prevent my boys from pain and discomfort. Same me, biting my tongue and smiling broadly in support.

Don’t listen to horror stories about airplane tantrums. Listen to me while I let you in on the secret perks of seeing the world with kiddos.

I’m not broken by this therapy failure. Jane wasn't the person to help me at this point of my life. Someone else WILL be.

Sometimes the nicest kids turn into whole new people when they come over to your house.

I always have a small piece of my brain on mom mode, no matter what else is happening. I have no problem with this, since that is how humanity has survived.

A haircut is a whole lot cheaper than therapy or tattoos or a round-the-world plane ticket.

My main reason for doing reading testing, enduring a bus ride to a field trip about weapons engineering, and other thrills? Stalking.

I’m not a fan of repeating things over and over so that they lose their meaning. "Pledge: a solemn promise or agreement." It is that extra level, the solemnity, that makes me uncomfortable with casual usage.