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sound bites.
I overheard London and Mosely talking this week. They didn’t know I was listening. “We’ll be best friends forever – right?” “Right.” “You can call us BFF’s.” “What?” “B.F.F. The B is for Best. The F is for Friends. The F is for Forever.” “Oh, right, best friends.” “I almost said Best Friends Virginia!” (Crazy amounts of giggles.) “Virginia starts…
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homesick
I dropped Riley off for a going away party for a friend one night recently. I had no idea what I was about to drive through on my way home. The driveway was long. Gravel. Winding around a few trees and some lovely fields. Passing a garden. Up a ridge. Mountains in the background. The recent rain had left everything…
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A walk in the park.
When you’re two and your name is Wilde Fox a walk in the park is never a walk in the park. First, there’s the desire for control. For complete and utter control. The directing and the wishing and the veryvery underdeveloped verbal communication skills. Next comes the demanding and the pulling and the desperate breakdown that gets him almost less…
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a prayer. sort of.
“I think I just love God more than anyone else in the world.” That’s what Cece said my seven-year-old daughter told her one night in their cabins at camp this week. And after the campfire, Cece said London also shared some more thoughts as they discussed the week of camp and the teachings they had heard. “You know, if I…
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that figures.
I was lighting a candle on the mantle. Beside the candle I noticed an unauthorized item. A plastic bag filled with various shaped macaroni noodles. I quickly played back the day’s events and conversations for an explantion. Oh yes, I remembered. I discovered Mosely’s plastic bag of noodle stash earlier the day and said, “Put these somewhere else please. Somewhere…
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eight summers.
How have we come so far so soon? Eight years. Buddies before birth. Raven. London. Last year these girls were walking the paths of camp. This summer they made their debut as Official Campers. Campers who slept at camp in bunk beds. With a Camp Leader all of their own. (The kind and lovely Cece.) This week they ate camp…
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where we stand. currently.
And this is what we’ve decided. (And I say “we” because this is not a decision I desire to make alone and I am gratfeulgratefulgrateful that my husband and I are able to discuss this together and to make a decision for our family from a united stand point. More miracle and grace than we deserve.) You don’t have to…
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That word.
Remember our word? Have you thought about yours in a while? I think about mine sometimes in the ebb and in the flow. Free. And I have tried to kick fear’s rear so many times in my past. I’ve written about it. I’ve cried about it. I’ve tried. I’ve succeeded. I’ve failed. I’ve been round and round with it. And…
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just a figure of speech
My grandmother always told my mother, “Pretty is as pretty does.” And my mother always told me, “Pretty is as pretty does.” And now I am telling my kids, “Pretty is as pretty does.” Which we all know is just another way to say, what you do is more important than how you look. Who you are matters more than…
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I don’t know.
I don’t actually feel like writing this post. Do you ever have topics like that? Ideas you know you need to discuss, but would prefer to avoid? Problems you know exist, but it would be so much simpler to bury your head in the sand and hope that while you’re down there, the problem would disappear? That’s how I feel…
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never satisfied
There is no end to my selfishness. I am sitting in a Starbucks right now. (Which should be miracle enough.) I just drank a Strawberries and Cream thing-a-ma-gig and ate a vanilla bean scone. (Which I did not share with anyone as I am here all alone.) I am typing on an iPad. Which was so graciously given to us…
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nothing
I love nights when “nothing” is going on. And by nothing I mean, nothing for which I have to leave my house or change my attire or look in the mirror. Nothing. So that I can listen to music as I putter around the house. I have time to erase the chalkboards and write up something new. To hop over…
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the sounds of summer.
Summer’s here. And its name is Trouble. Well, sort of. Camp has started. And I feel . . . insane. exhausted. sleepy. unable to properly punctuate my words. I think there is a continual buzzing in my ears of something. Oh wait – that’s the steady sound of my youngest son’s constant displeasure at all things. Like the air that…
