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Same Old Song & Dance
It was Emma’s idea really. Potty training Piper while I was not at home. I wasn’t prepared. Emma wasn’t daunted. She just popped Finn into Beckett’s boxer shorts and set off. (What? You think you recall hearing somewhere that I have tried this before? Yeah. You’re right. And you’re also a pretty diligent fan of this wee blog if you remember that! Anyway. The last episode? Well, it just had no sticking power. Or I had no consistency. Or the same.) Setbacks? Sure. There was poop that never made it to the toilet. Bergen insists that Piper peed on the barn floor without our knowledge. (It’s probably true. I haven’t…
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The Magic’s In The Music . . .
I’ve been telling you my Little Willow is smart – right? Well. Now she is an accomplished songwriter as well. She wrote this little piece just this evening and repeated it endlessly as she ran circles around our kitchen’s center island. Here goes . . . I love my mommy. I love her more than the most. I love my mommy. She’s great. So far I am loving this melody. Sing it, sister! But then the words took another decidedly different direction altogether . . . And we never say stupid. And we never say hate. Never. Never. Never. Do we say flub-a-dub? Is flub-a-dub a kind word? I think…
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Oh. And This Happened Too.
If you don’t care for reading about poop or vomit or throw up, you should probably read another blog. A tidier, cleaner, more appropriate blog perhaps. I can’t exactly help this. I have six kids – remember? This is what I do right now. Here goes . . . They needed a bath. It was a tub mostly full of pudgy kid legs and dirty toes and stubby fingers and plastic tug boats. Beckett, Otto Fox and Piper Finn were all getting a cleansing soak. Things seemed pretty fine. Rinse hair. Wash face. Reach for baby shampoo. Turn back to tub. What in the world? Who dumped a small bucket…
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More Kids Than Adults: Lessons Learned
I haven’t been home for a full week. Seven days. Seven nights. It’s July. And in our framily July means one thing. The annual July Fourth party. A tradition at least twenty years in the making. And – oh boy – will I have a lot of things to say about this past week. Here’s the first . . . Lots of us slept at the farm house. The grand total was something like this – 5 adults. 9 kids. (And some days held more children drifting in and out.) The point is – the adults were outnumbered. The kids could have thrown a coup and forced us to feed…
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Perhaps it’s true.
It is possible that these kitchen tongs may have scooped a plastic orca whale out of our toilet recently.
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Alone
It was late. I was lonely. I called my brother. And we talked. And that was nice. We talked about things and stuff and all that. But as I was talking and as I was listening another part of me simultaneously was realizing that although I was reaching out trying to connect through distance and space and time (another time zone) and the miracle that all that really is I realized that I was trying to avoid being alone. To stave off loneliness. But I couldn’t. Because really I actually am all alone. We all are. All Alone. Right now. In the end. Here. Then. Always. Alone. When we…
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Book Review: A Year Without “Made In China”
Remember that sweet adventure I was able to take with Beth? I brought a book with me. Because I thought I might actually be able to read it. And – you know what? I did read it. I really did. It literally jumped out at me from the library’s shelf. I was looking for a novel – some escapist literature, if you will, for an escapist trip. But I picked up Sara Bongiorni’s A Year Without “Made in China” instead. In the end, I am really glad I did. Bongiorni is a reporter and a mother and a label checker. She and her husband made jokes for years about the…
