-
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…
-
Oh Otto – you are such a boy.
It’s those sturdy legs. Calf muscles bulging. I like hiking behind my Wilde Otto Fox. He walks with a legitimate swagger and he is only five years old. Yes, yes. Of course I am partial to this kid. That’s what we mothers do. It’s how the world is supposed to work. You pick your children and you like them best. It’s like – the law of mothering or something. But I really do think Otto Fox is a kind of swell kid. He’s at the age where he is extra funny. His inflection combined with his enunciations combined with the sweet tone of his voice at this stage and suddenly…
Keep Reading . . .
and there’s a video
messy
in between. it’s hard to be a teen. (and a teen’s momma.)
-
in the blue bag
Sometimes you just have to laugh. One night this week I tried to eat my delicious salad dinner in the car. On a pottery plate with a regular fork. That’s crazy guys. (I know my friend Hilary does it all the time. I sent her a picture and said I felt just like her.) When I arrived at my destination I wanted a mint. You know, a post-salad-eaten-in-the-car mint. In my bag I found this Altoids tin. Score! A mint for me. Oh, but no. No mints. Instead, this little red and white tin was filled with matches and cotton balls. Thanks Bergen. I can start a fire in an…
-
stream of consciousness: thursday edition
It’s after midnight. I just had a conversation with my son. Apparently no one can get any routine sleep in this house. Life is just hard, ya’ll. It. Is. Hard. And I am tired. Tired of sleepless nights and tired of sad afternoons. I’m tired. Like the kind of literal tired as in – I don’t get enough sleep. And the kind of figurative tired as in – My heart hurts a lot of the day. And – can I say this? – I am tired of being tired. I am sick of being full of sorrow. I am all tired out of being all tired out. Today I cut…
-
the business details. (in which I present ways you can help me.)
Well. I’ve been trying this Amazon link thing somewhat subtlety for the past year or so. It’s been working …… like …….. meh. I mean, it’s not steady by any means. Some months my kickback is zero. Some months it’s a whooping twenty dollars. Around Christmas it creeped up a little higher for a fun month or two. I know it’s hard to remember to click through this website before you order your birthday presents and your mascara and your ice cream maker. I’ve probably made a total of about $200 – in seventeen months. Not exactly a steady revenue source – eh? And that’s alright. Obviously. I was mostly experimenting,…
Keep Reading . . .
Otto Meets a Hawk
that musical everyone loves.
Beyond Wildwood: The Ranch (Tuesday)
-
As You Wish
No more rhymes now, I mean it. Anybody want a peanut? I’m not a movie person per se. But I have an emotional attachment to a handful of films. One in particular. The Princess Bride. This attachment is based perhaps on my one hundred plus times viewing this film one summer in the the late 1980’s. I blame it on my framily. We watched it on VHS on a television that was placed on the floor. I think we watched it every day for one entire summer. (Not exactly watched so much as had it on for background noise.) We acted it out, dressed up as the characters, rolled down…
-
Midnight.
He’s five. She’s eleven. Last night they fell asleep side by side in her bed. Big sister. Little brother. They fell asleep and they were holding hands. As in – interlocking fingers holding hands. That is sugary sweet enough to give me cavities. My word. Preciousness defined. Those intertwined fingers. Post race exhaustion having won the wide awake battle. And I know I am blessed – surrounded by a glorious abundance of affection. I love the way the two of these kiddos love one another.
-
nevertheless
My dad said, “Aren’t two tattoos excessive for a forty-one year old mother of six?” I laughed. Grinned at him. And then. Weeks later. A message left on my phone’s voice mail. His tractor-trailer-driving muffled voice at the same familiar lilt I’ve known since birth. “And what will you tell your children when they want a tattoo?” I push call back and answer his question. I’ll say, “Yes. If my daughter reaches the age of forty-one and wants to tattoo a singular word of hope and praise on her forearm, I’ll say yes. Yes – can I go with you?” It’s just a word. In a beautiful…
-
hello. kitty.
Mornings are still slow. The chalkboard wall that declares chores done and breakfast served by 8:30 every a.m. is a chalky liar lately. The culprits are obvious. Sleepless nights. Crowded beds. The other morning was an anomaly tough. A breakthrough. “Rise and shine,” I’m whispering to the sleepers beside me – of which there are only two. A small number, by comparison. I hear sounds that prove more than the usual morning chore activity is taking place. Some strong amounts of giggling. A too-loud-for-pre-breakfast voice announcing, “Genius Professor Kitty approaching.” Yes. I admit. I was mildly curious, but frankly, given our children’s propensity to dress up animals, I wasn’t overly…
-
Cooking Conversations
“Mommy, will you sit with me in the kitchen while I make the scones?” It’s after ten p.m. on a Friday night. She is eleven, but only for about three more months. Scout’s Scones has an order and we have a crowded schedule tomorrow so it’s baking time tonight for this young entrepreneur. I gather my supplies – blue ink pen, blank notebook, listening ears, sympathetic face. “Yes. I’ll sit in the kitchen with you.” And she mixes. Flour. Milk. Chocolate chips. She kneads. She talks. About cartoons. Tattoos. She hums. Tells me she cut her finger making her last batch of scones. I hadn’t known. She grins. Long hair…
-
The Dolphin Tour (you should know I was tempted to title this “the dolphin’s tale” but I deemed it too silly)
Everyone agrees about dolphins – right? They’re kind of magical and other worldly. I don’t know exactly why. No trip to the coast ever feels truly complete to me if that trip doesn’t involve at least one dolphin sighting. And when you see that one sleek dolphin rising and falling right in the gigantic ocean, you feel a little amazed. And when you see – like fifty of them – you feel like a lottery winner. On our recent raccoon-filled camping adventure to Edisto Island our family and our friends loaded a boat on a super windy afternoon and tried to follow the rivers and the inlets to catch some…
-
lyrics
I heard this song on Sunday for the first time. It fits everything about everything right now. Jesus Draw Me Ever Nearer – lyrics by Margaret Becker Jesus draw me ever nearer As I labour through the storm. You have called me to this passage, and I’ll follow, though I’m worn. May this journey bring a blessing, May I rise on wings of faith; And at the end of my heart’s testing, With Your likeness let me wake. Jesus guide me through the tempest; Keep my spirit staid and sure. When the midnight meets the morning, Let me love You even more. Let the treasures of the trial Form within…
-
simple advice.
I walk into this meeting and a kind friend asks, “How are you?” Who knew “how are you?” would become such a loaded question? And I shrug. Talk about how much I dislike pumping gas in the rain, about how I couldn’t get that blasted tent into its two inch case, share a couple heavy fears. You know, way too much information for the simple “how are you?’ question. (Listen, friends. Don’t ask the question if you don’t actually want the answer.) He grins a little sympathetic grin. I know he gets it. So I get this fist pump, high five, kind of hybrid from him and he says simply,…
