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mosely. miracles. in the middle.
Can I just talk about this one for a little while? She is sweet and sharp and sensitive. Mosely is clever and brave and the only person in our home willing to kill spiders for the rest of us weaklings when Daddy’s at work. She is eight years old, a second grader and a struggling reader. The teaching of reading, the concept of words on paper, has been a struggle for Mosely since kindergarten. We both watched London catch the reading fever in full swing around first grade. And then we both watched Bergen conquer words like nobody’s business the first day of kindergarten. And there she was. Mosely. Middle.…
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the soccer experiment
Soccer season is playing out quite differently this year. Last year three kids were on the same team and Kevin and Riley coached them. Talk about a family event. And we normally just play soccer in the spring. But this fall, all that changes. It’s a bit of an experiment, actually. (But isn’t all parenting, at some level?) This season it’s a Mosely-only soccer show. Mosely only has practice every Tuesday. Mosely only has a game every Thursday. Mosely only. And all the little fans sit on the sidelines and cheer for Mosely only. And of course by cheer I mean – Hawkeye throws his stuffed rabbit into the air…
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the week’s middle
Was yesterday only Wednesday? First regular week of school at house. Monday night, while chatting outside together, we all notice that Mosely had just conquered riding her bike sans training wheels. She was rocket fast and slightly reckless with some hardcore swerving happening. Then Tuesday. All morning Mosely asks, “Can we go outside? Can we ride bikes?” Not yet, I keep answering. Spelling. History. Copywork. Bible. Reading. Done. Done. Done. “Alright guys. You can play outside while I fix lunch.” Before I blink, the table is empty. Three minutes maybe. Otto needs a diaper change. I enter the tent he and Piper have constructed in the living room. I change…
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a good deal.
The other night Mosely and I were reading a magazine on the bed together. Which slowly turned into a pseudo-wrestling match on the bed together. Because, for some reason, I think that kid’s love language is wrestling or rough-housing. Was that one of the options? It was – right? Whatever. Somewhere along in the wrestling game I decided I was tired so I closed my eyes and laid my head across Mosely’s legs so she couldn’t move. She thought it was part of the game, I thought it was basically restful. Then the game changed to wake-up-Mommy-any-way-I-can. To which I responded with the game don’t-let-Mosely-wake-me-up-no-matter-what-she-does-or-says. She tried tickling me. No…
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Maybe I don’t clean enough after all.
I was reviewing some phonics with Mosely. We were matching the drawing to the correct sound of the first letter of the item drawn. Mosely finished three or four in a row by herself but was really stumped at one drawing. She wouldn’t even make an attempt at a sound to match the drawing. The drawing was a picture of a word that started with a “V”. “Mosely, do you know what this drawing shows?”, I asked her. “No,” she responded. “What is this drawing Mosely?” I persisted. “I don’t know Mommy,” she continued. “Seriously?” “No, I don’t. What is it?” Mosely asked, quite in earnest. Uh. Do you know…
Keep Reading . . .
this little moment.
just recounting a day . . .
you can’t call it a mid-life crisis.
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a couple of seven-year-olds
It’s usually at night when I am most aware of it. Lying between London and Mosely in their single loft bed. Listening to them recount their days. Answering the same series of questions London asks every evening about the next day. “What’s for breakfast? What’s for lunch? What’s for dinner? What are we doing all day? How many hours until morning will be here?” It’s during this nightly ritual that I notice all the details I have been too busy to see all day. The way these two girls really know one another. The way Mosely’s two new front teeth are inching their way fully into her wide little smile.…
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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 to consider. And she shared a simple story about a friend of hers who is about to begin a business/ministry targeted to women, using fashion as the hook. And how this woman has a photo of her first grade class where she is a mini fashionista amid the casually dressed…
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it’s funny because it’s true.
The following conversation occurred during last night’s bedtime routine. Location: London and Mosely’s bedroom. Kevin: Good night, girls. London: Good night Daddy. I hope you feel better. [Kevin has strep throat. He feels not well. Very not well.] Kevin: [Overwhelmed with love for her consideration] Thank you London. I feel so blessed that you are my girls and how you guys show me that . . . Mosely: [Interrupting this tender moment.] I lost my lip. I think I ate it.
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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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One Thing Leads To Another
Once upon a time there was a little girl. Let’s call her . . . . Mosely Elliot. Mosely Elliot had a loose tooth. That loose tooth came out. (During church. With the help of her older probably-should-have-known-better-than-to-mess-with-a-loose-tooth-in-church sister.) The next day Mosely wants to instantly spin the cash load of two dollars that some fairy traded for her tiny old tooth. I am convinced by many children to drive to the dollar store. After a fruitless half hour Mosely declares that purchases made at the dollar store have a short shelf life. Her money’s on the stuff she can acquire at Wal-Mart. Aaack! I am somehow coerced into the…
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good morning.
I was wading through our laundry pile a few nights ago. It wasn’t as bad as it was this week – but it was no walk in the park either. As I folded kid clothes I tossed all of the kitchen laundry into one gigantic, lumpy pile. And then I carried that lumpy pile of wash cloths, cloth napkins, hand towels and the random ShamWow and deposited them in the living room where I would deal with them the next day. That was my plan. The next morning, the sun rises as usual. And Mosely creeps into our room and pokes her head next to mine, as usual. “Mom –…
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Looth Tooth
Mosely’s been letting her front tooth dangle next to her bottom lip for about six weeks now. We’ve put numbing gel on it and tried to yank it out. (With her permission, of course.) But it stayed stuck. We’ve watched it float across her tongue and poke out in weird directions, but it never fell out. She’s eaten crispy apples and tried brushing her teeth really hard. (Another suggestion made for her by her.) That tooth just kept hanging around. Mosely has never lost a single tooth yet. She was so afraid she would reach the ripe old age of seven and still have all of her baby teeth. (I…
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Sometimes Being A Parent Makes You Say Bizarre Things
Kevin said the silliest thing the other day. He was sitting at his desk (read: an old kitchen table set up in our bedroom) and looking through the doorway at Piper Finn and London. He sighed. And that’s when Crazy exited his mouth. “Man, Lacey. We need to have some more kids.” I am sure I gasped. Dropped something. And suffered a neck injury as my head spun off my shoulders. “Whuh?” Yes. That is the sound most closely resembling the noise I made. “WHY?” I asked incredulously. (Obviously incredulously. I mean – come on. More kids? We have six of them already.) “Just look at them. They’re growing up…
