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The Times. They Were Good.
The house has been a little extra full the past few days. Full of Keigleys – like usual. Full of Phelps – not like usual but like a special unusual holiday treat. Full of laughter. And screams. Full of staying up late. And getting up early. Full of old “back in the day” stories. And current “in the trenches” tales.…
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Once Upon A Midnight Weary
Last night we went to bed a little late – visiting with some good friends. (More details on those guys tomorrow.) For now – let’s just focus on last night. Otto was sleeping in a pack and play in Kevin’s office and from our comfortable and warm bed I could hear him crying. The indiglo feature on my old school…
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Another Birthday Story. Different Birthday(s).
Remember how I said our stop in Atlanta was a soft landing place before making the haul to our next stop? That was true. (Because I don’t lie here – right? Well, at least not intentionally.) We drove nine hours to Florida two days before Christmas because we wanted to be a part of a fabulous birthday surprise for two…
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We’re Still Here. (Except When We Weren’t.)
If you follow our lives primarily through this blog, then it might appear as if Mosely turned seven last week and then life stood still at our house. No posts. No comments. Internet silence. Well. Life did probably stand basically still at our house. But we did not. Stand still, that is. In fact, we were on the move on…
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6 + 1 = 7
Yesterday Mosely was six years old. Today she is seven. (Blink. Blink.) How did this happen? Happy Birthday Mosely. I hope you enjoy your Barbie birthday cake and your pink and purple star pinata. Mosely Turns Seven from Lacey Keigley on Vimeo.
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at this house
At this house things like this happen . . . We bake gingerbread cookies with joy and enthusiasm. Eager to get to shaping and cutting out our gingerbread people. Only to realize a few minutes later that the recipe calls for the dough to sit in the freezer for over an hour. Once that hour passes, children step up to…
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Gingerbread Houses at Grove Park
The Christmas Chain has been ripped open every morning with eager anticipation. The words on the little paper strips have led us to watching a few more Christmas classics – like Pee Wee’s Christmas Special. (Yeah, I don’t believe that’s considered a classic at any home but ours. It’s an insane little piece of 80’s/90’s television. Please, please, confide to…
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the flip side.
When I have an afternoon (or a day or a week or a . . . you know) that I camp out in the Feeling Small Acres here at this home place I sometimes let my mind wander to all the jobs I could be doing instead. Teaching high school. Writing for a newspaper. Raising goats. And all the other…
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small.
I don’t like deboning chicken. Who does? (I don’t even think “deboning” should be a word, let alone a verb.) But I like to ease the pain a little by telling myself, with every slippery touch of the gnarly chicken bones, this is love. This is love. This is what love looks like. (It’s a mantra. On rerun in my…
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mmmmm . . . good
Raise your hand if you think a peanut butter and Nutella sandwich makes a delicious lunch.
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I’ll buy that.
There something else about that whole Webkinz debacle that I didn’t mention in my last post. (Because who would have kept reading as long as it was anyway?) Little does London know – and never needs to know I guess – that at that moment in that overly-lit store, I would have purchased that kid nearly anything she asked for.…
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Is this funny yet?
This story I am about to share actually happened last week. I had to wait that long to tell this story so that I could find it funny. I don’t know if it’s been long enough yet for me to think this day was all that humorous – but I’ll give it a shot. The scene: Two or three days…
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bitter vs. me.
It’s a battle. Maybe mine alone. (But I kind of doubt that.) It’s me in one corner and bitterness in the other. And sometimes I just want to lie down and hand my opponent the title. You win, I’d tell him. Just standing in my corner looking at you makes me weak. It’s a fight I’ve been in before. And…
