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overheard truth
And the sister said, “Do you know what we have during this sad time?” The other one asked, “What? What do we have?” “One another.”
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doing the best I can
And I want to gather them all to me, like little chicks in a nest, and pull them close and look into their eyes and whisper, “You guys. You guys. Mommy is doing the best she can.” Isn’t that what all we mommas want to say? We’re doing the best we can. And we know, my goodness we know, that the best we can offer is sometimes just not enough. Just. Not. Enough. The biting truth is – even when this was a two-parent house – the best we could do was not really enough then either. The darkest and scariest and most freeing truth I know as a parent…
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too much knowledge.
Maybe this kid knows too much. At bedtime – of course at bedtime, it’s always at bedtime – Bergen Hawkeye comes shooting down the stairs. (You can never say that boy walks down the stairs. He just doesn’t.) He sails into the living room and exhales. “Mom!” he has that look in his eyes. “There’s a cockroach in the girls’ room!” Ugh – gross. A cockroach! What in the world. “Son,” I give him a certain look in my own eyes. “Go kill it. Just kill it please.” “Mom,” he grins. “That might be hard. It takes six pounds of pressure exerted on a cockroach to kill him.”
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the blue ghost fairies
Last week I got a text from Hannah telling us what we needed to do on Sunday night. So, you know, we did what Hannah said. And what Hannah said to do was this: Get in your car and drive to DuPont Forest in North Carolina. Get out of your car and walk in the woods. Stand in awe at what you see. We did what Hannah said. We took some friends with us. We drove to DuPont Forest and arrived at 8:30 p.m. We parked at the High Falls parking lot. We wandered to the covered bridge to wait until darkness fell. Hannah went…
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Meeting Maddox
I woke Saturday morning and glanced at my phone. Like 14 missed calls and 13 texts and oops – I guess I should have stayed awake all night or something. Riley – our oldest daughter – was letting me know she was on the way to the hospital to give birth to her baby. Yes. To give birth to a baby! (It’s shocking to think of myself as a grandmother so I plan to do my best to make this post about Riley and not about how I cannot possibly be grandmother age.) We arrived at the hospital literally as she was delivering the little fellow so our timing was…
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weighing in on year-round school. and changing up its name.
I’m thinking about school for next year. Because I’m kind of over thinking about school for this year. I have been entertaining thoughts about year-round school. This article really spoke my language about why I think the schedule could fit our family. I love the idea of more frequent breaks instead of drudging through until summer for this giant long break where we forget everything anyway. Then we begin again in fall with all this renewed vigor only to review every math lesson we already learned but forgot from lack of use and then our enthusiasm quickly fizzles out just as the more difficult subjects arrive on the scene. I…
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my psalm.
I cannot answer the question of why I signed up for this class at our church. Redemption Group. It’s offered once or twice a year I think. I’ve seen it in the bulletin off and on for a while, my friends have led the class before. I’ve heard of it. And sometime in February I guess – I started taking the class. Eleven weeks. Every Monday night. It was the real thing. Signed contracts to attend every session, to not share the stories of the people in your group. A group therapy of sorts for sure. I attended the first week and was pretty sorry I had signed my contract…
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a funny story because we need a little funny, am I right?
Who needs something funny today? Okay – I need something funny. Here. A funny blog post. _____ Last weekend I did something out of the ordinary. Something kind of crazy. Something I haven’t done in a very long time. I went to the ……. mall! I know. I know. It is completely out of character for me. But I needed a (ugh and sigh) bathing suit and I wanted to try on the ones offered at the Land’s End section in Sears. My friend Hilary went with me. (Actually – we had a great time together. We got trapped in that violently bright, over cluttered, monstrosity that is labeled “Forever…
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for all the days you feel like this
There was this morning that I spent pretty much entirely in bed. My friend delivered gallons of farm fresh milk and Otto dropped an egg on the floor and I stood in the kitchen with counters crowded with bowls for yogurt and granola that hadn’t yet happened and I cried and she said, “Can I take your kids to play with mine for the day?” and I nodded. “Thank you,” I hope I said. Maybe I forgot to say that. I’ve said it before. I will say it again. Life is hard ya’ll. Being a human is just plain hard work. And she left with my bouncing-off-the-walls-with-enthusiasm children and I…
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perhaps today
I was young once. About a million years ago. I think I almost remember it. And back then I remember hearing people – old, crazy, out of touch people – saying stuff like, “I look forward to heaven” and “Goodness, I wish Jesus would return soon”. Back then, Young Lacey, Not Suffered Any Yet Lacey, would listen to those people and think, “Man, they’ve let life get them all bitter. They don’t have much good going on. I hope I never get that old. I like life a lot. Shh, don’t tell these guys, but I sort of want Jesus to come back a long long time from now.” Now…
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Hawkeye Thoughts
His feet are filthy. As in, gross dirty. Those weird little lines of crud that only a pair of Keens can outline so distinctly. Those ragged little beasts are currently snuggled up against mine as I lie in bed tip tap typing away. I should move my feet before my size eights are contaminated by his size fives, but I don’t actually care all that much. His eyelashes are longer than mine on even a good blinc mascara morning. This boy is sensitive and funny and quick witted and changing even as I write this post. Bergen still loves affection. He’s a cuddler. A hand holder. A back scratcher. He…
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And Then There Were Goats.
On New Year’s Day this year our family gathered around the long farm table that takes up our entire dining room. (That somehow seems like a long time ago.) And we made a big old list of goals for 2015. Of course we wrote them on a chalkboard door in our house because that’s what we do. We’re not exactly breezing through the list this year but we have conquered an item or two – such as visit the ocean and build a bigger chicken coop. Last weekend we were able to check off another item on the list. And – it might be my favorite so far. You guys. Last…
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transparency: a mixed bag
I am endlessly encouraged by the kind and generous words people place before me – here, in the comments; in parking lots during brief encounters; through early morning texts; in letters (real letters) arriving in my mailbox. Completely unworthy of the words offered, I find myself humbled and grateful and frankly so thankful for friends (and strangers) who share uplifting words and sentiments, who ask hard questions and wait while I consider my responses. One word I can never take any genuine credit for, however, is the word transparent. Transparent. You know that word? I recognize that it is offered as a compliment – but the reason I don’t think…
