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Why I Am Not Writing Tonight
I write my blog posts at night. Kids are asleep. (Mostly.) House is quiet. I can snack on what I want without sharing. Messes are easier to ignore in the dimly lit house. Mornings are not good writing times for me. I like sleep. Some kid hears me and wakes up extra early. Dirty counters look more obvious in the…
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this little moment.
weekend ramble (the stillest of weekends)
Thanksgiving Tables …
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Mosely: Defender of Truth, Lover of Justice
I attended a writer’s conference this weekend. I’m still mulling over my take-away thoughts scrawled in blue ink in my brown moleskin. One of the topics was about discovering your passion as a writer. The key speaker, Marybeth Whalen, advised us to think about what brought us joy as children. “What were you passionate about at six?” she challenged us…
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I’m No Videographer or Further Evidence I Need an iPhone or Further Evidence I Need a Nanny
You know, by the mere fact that I post words and seldom post videos, that I am no film maker. You know, by the copious number of times that I have mentioned my desire for an iPhone, that my current cell phone camera is essentially lame, and that, therefore, my videos will not be stellar quality. You know, by all…
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Yesterday
Yesterday London wore a shirt that was a size 8 for the first time. I bought $24 worth of groceries for $8 at Harris Teeter’s super doubles sale. A large rectangular glass cutting board was sitting on the stove top. Kevin turned on the wrong burner. The glass cutting board slowly heated up. Until it exploded in a million miniature…
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behind the scenes
I’ve always been background. Behind the scenes. In college I earned a degree in theatre. (According to my pocket-sized, laminated diploma. Seriously – does anyone else have one of those?) But mostly I fulfilled my theatre requirements through costumes, lighting, sound. Off stage. Behind the curtains. Pre-production. Post-production. And that’s okay. Mostly, I chose that role. Liked that aspect. But sometimes…
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is there a funnier age than three?
Not one day goes by that Piper Finnian Willow does not make us laugh. We think she is hilarious. Example One. After a trip to the Goodwill store I required the children to use some hand sanitizer. I poured the goo in Finn’s hands and watched her face change as she began to remember the future flavor of her thumb,…
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free. from the what ifs.
I don’t know if you have bad dreams any longer. Nightmares. But I still do. And a rotten one woke me up recently. And the remnants of it clung to my skin all morning. In the asleep version of my life I had left our children at some childcare facility. It was new to me. I was new to town.…
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love. in all its many forms.
It’s not all glamorous. Oh, actually, it’s hardly ever glamorous. Guarantee it would not make the cover of any glossy magazine. But here’s to the many ways love is shown at our house. Quietly refilling Mommy’s empty glass with ice and water because you know she loves drinking cold water all day long. Keeping the towels clean and folded so…
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about last night
2:00 a.m. All was quiet. (As it should be.) And then a cry. A sound of concern coming from a child’s bedroom. “What was that?” I whispered to Kevin. “I think Piper is calling your name,” he said. “No, I think she said your name,” I responded. It’s a game we like to play. The specific name a child chooses…
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a list. a distraction.
Six children. Two adults. Our house is full of people. With different opinions and changing moods. I thought I’d make a little list today to gage where the Keigley family members currently stand on a few non-essential topics. (Because I like lists.) Favorite Kid Television Show: Wild Kratts. (There might be some addiction to this show at our house. And…
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Blessed Be Your Name
Four years. It has been four years since my sweet mother passed away. And I still miss her. That has never really changed. I know I have written about her before. And I am sure I will write about her again. She was my mom. Her life (and her passing) shape so much of who I am. I am sure…
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… and counting
It has been thirteen days already. And this Fox is still rocking his amazing hat. It is possible we have forgotten what he looks like without it, so attached to this little accessory he has become.
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once upon a Sunday morning
The Sunday mornings of our present look nothing like the Sunday mornings of our past. It’s just a church. I know that. Broken people. Imperfect leaders. You know all the phrases. So do I. But every time I am there I cry. I connect. I get a glimpse of what I think church can look like. And she is beautiful.…
