Mary Pezzulo

I think of myself as an accomplished gardener, but I have never yet successfully grown a watermelon.

In the summer of 2024, J. D. Vance, then just a senator from Ohio, spread calumny against his constituents.

I met the man as Adrienne and I were running out of the house to run errands, before we had to pick up Michael from work.

I've decided to invent a new rule: you have to be a tradhusband to get a tradwife. You don't get a Caroline Ingalls unless you are a Charles.

I recently discovered that a Steubenville neighbor and a fellow Catholic, Lindsay Tsohantaridis, has been writing a series on the abuses committed

I was at Mass, by myself. It sometimes still hurts to go to Mass by myself, but I'm used to it.

It felt as if hell had opened up to swallow the earth. The heat wave started over Monday evening, when the cat wouldn't go to bed in her

You may have already heard about a horrendous child abuse case that has been all over the news in my part of Northern Appalachia.

After the heat wave and then the rain, the garden was a mess. The tomatoes were coming along, though they needed to be pruned.

The apocalypse began at the lake. Early in the week, Adrienne and I took Jimmy's boy to the lake for an afternoon of noisy fun.