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in lieu
You know what job I used to do (in a slightly more professional setting) that I rather enjoyed? Teaching high school English. You know what I really liked about it? (Not grading the bazillion essays, I tell you that!) My students. You know what else I like? When former-students-turned-now-friends drive down for a weekend visit. And when her brother, another former student, literally drives by and stops in for a visit so we can meet his wee little new daughter. (What I don’t like? How old that makes me feel to realize that my students can have children by now.) And guess what else is cool? When we all…
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May’s Grove Giveaway
motivation. can you locate it?
parenting reminds me I need Jesus
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Truth Better Than Fiction: An Example
File this under Random Weird Absolutely Unsolicited Confessions. Bergen: “Mom. One day this summer when we were at the pool we all took turns eating London’s skin.” Me: “Which part of her skin?” Bergen: “Her toes.” Me: “Why?” Bergen: “Because London said it was like gum.” Me: “Did it taste like gum?” Bergen: “No. It didn’t taste like anything.”
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about fragility, bravery, a girl and a horse.
I want to tell you a story about perhaps the most frightening parenting moment of my life and the bravest kid I know. We went to a horse farm for a field trip last week. The farm was tidy and organized and smelled of hay and dirt and horse manure and sky and life and my childhood. The kids admired the miniature horses, the black ram and the albino horse that is not allowed to soak up the sunshine for fear of his skin burning. We had been at the farm for maybe fifteen minutes. The instructor asked us to stand in the breezeway while she prepared our handsome steed,…
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Yes, You May.
The other day Mosely said, “Hey Mommy, can I pick out my own clothes?” Pretty sure we had no plans of leaving the confines of our home, I took a gamble. “Sure,” I agreed. Mosely appeared in a too-big shirt and a slightly-too-corduroy-to-be-seasonally-appropriate skirt. (Actually, Mosely picks out her clothes pretty often and mostly does a great job.) It’s just that she has a certain pattern. A specific look to which she seems constantly drawn. And it looks a lot like this . . .
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you won’t find it here. (a point, that is.)
I guess this picture is just about perfect for this post. Piper Finn looks a little creepy. Otto Fox looks mostly miserable. (But they are both still sort of cute despite the weirdness and the displeasure.) I’d say that’s a good summation of my day. I should just stop right there and step away from the keyboard. But I can’t. Because that’s not how I roll. Today was a school day. But it was also a day that required a few quick morning errands. A few quick morning errands. Oh, how I laugh at the idea even now. Before the bulk of our real shopping was to begin, Bergen reminded…
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don’t buy juice this month.
We have those weeks at our house. Like everyone else I assume. Weeks where the grocery budget has been spent and we end up eating tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches (at an estimated cost of less than 80 cents per family member) or tuna casserole (a throwback from the quick, easy, low cost dishes of my childhood). I cut coupons and am currently trying my hand at the whole CVS game. And I’m not doing it because I like spending several hours huddled over newspaper ads or searching websites for great deals. I’m cutting coupons and planning low cost meals for the same reason everyone else is doing it.…
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A Little Like Me
My children say some crazy things. Out of nowhere, Mosely commented, “Wouldn’t it be weird if a witch came here right now and turned Bergen into a dog?” (Where’s that kid learning about witches and how powerful does she think they are?) Or Bergen wondering out loud, “Wouldn’t it be funny if all shoes were made out of sausages?” And I actually like to hear these bizarre-o statements escape their lips. Because I like laughing. But it’s the sweet, unexpectedly kind and thoughtful comments that really shape my heart. Brushing Scout’s much-longer-than-I-realized hair, I began telling her how much her current seven-year-old self resembled my former seven-year-old self. (It’s uncanny,…
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let the school year commence
Today. It’s the first day of the 2010-2011 school year here at our home. And this year the School of Keigley has a record number of students. Three. A second grader. A first grader. And a kindergarten student. (Not to mention that we also manage and maintain a very elite preschool and a rather crème de la crème nursery as well. So sorry – all vacancies are filled.) Ahh – the new school year. The books we cannot gather locally are ordered from our school’s personal suppliers- a.k.a. Barnes & Noble and Amazon. The classroom has been tidied. (Read: the kitchen counters are cleared and the sunroom table is free…
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three (3).
Isn’t it funny how all of a family’s history can meet right in the face of a three-year-old? On our long drive recently Kevin and I looked at Piper’s face in the rearview mirror and verbally dissected her petite features. A Norton nose. My mom’s jawline. It’s all right there. Aunt Vonnie. Uncle Tommy. In my little Willow. That wee face, full of so many faces she will never even know. All of the people whose blood flows through hers. All of the people who have had a hand in making her – both structure and soul. A whole of so many pieces. An end to something started so long…
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I’m Just Like Bergen
Sometime in the less-than-distant past, this event occurred at our home. It was bed time. Some friends were over. Bergen wanted Nate to fly him to bed like a superhero. (Because Nate can do that, you know.) But Nate was busy. So Bergen began to wait. Impatiently. He cried out Nate’s name. Loudly. Repetitively. Nate told Bergen he would be right there in just a minute. But Bergen didn’t care. He just kept crying out in a sobbing voice, “Naaaay-Aaaate”. Over and over. Increasing in volume each time. Nate was not ignoring Bergen. He had every intention of entering the living room, scooping Bergen up Superman-style, and making a grand…
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Second Time ‘Round
Last year was our first ever Tybee visit. And we fell in love. So this summer we steered the Suburban (or “suh-burr-ven” as Piper calls it) southeast to see if, in fact, our family and Tybee were still a great fit. This year’s house was actually not that far from last year’s house. We stopped for ice cream at last summer’s favorite spot, Tradewinds, the first night – before our toes even touched the sea. Well. That was a little disappointing. Riley and Kevin’s favorite flavor – Savannah Mud – was sold out and the teenagers running the counter were bored, uninterested and seemed a bit burdened by our desire…
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tiny royalty
Otto Fox Wilder McDonald. It’s kind of a royal name – right? I mean, royal in the sense that lots of kings and queens and dukes and duchesses and such have a long series of names – right? Right? Well, this week our family decided that its youngest member needed to be crowned king in a few areas. Like . . . King of Throwing Objects Into the Toilet Objects such as a letter magnet. A wooden block. A stuffed animal. Pretty much, if Fox sensed that a toilet lid was left open anywhere in his vicinity he would rush headlong toward that open hole and try to toss in…
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And we have now returned . . .
Last week we were at Tybee Island. This week we are not. (Although the eight pounds of sand piled on the laundry room floor makes me think perhaps we are.) Please allow me to list a few things I learned while on vacation. Last week I learned that limited internet access can be a good thing. It can be a very good thing. I learned that you can eat too much divinity from the Savannah Candy Factory. I was reminded (for the second time) that a protective UV lens filter on your camera can literally save the life of your lens when said camera is accidentally dropped on a tile…
