Happy Friday, Friends! Start your weekend off right with a few laughs from these little ones…
Recently, I came home from the gym, and my three-year-old approached me, asking, “Can you talk like Yoda now, Mommy?”
Wondering if I’d understood him, I repeated, “Talk like Yoda?”
“Yeah! You were at ‘Yoda class,’” he answered, pointing to the rolled-up yoga mat hanging from my shoulder. “Can you talk like Yoda now?”
The lake was calm, except for our speedboat with you and your noisy brothers in tow. You requested more chips, then scoffed at my expected Eat-some-more-grapes-first reply.
“Is it time to swim yet?” you asked.
“We’re heading to the swimming hole now,” Daddy answered.
In the glare of late-day sun, I noticed something on the water ahead. Squinting, shielding my eyes, I called to your father to slow down.
“What is it? he asked.
“I can’t tell – some kind of birds.”
Welcome to The Book Basket, a place for sharing seasonal reads and other literature we’re enjoying in our home.
This summer, we’ve been reaching for All the Places to Love, written by Patricia MacLachlan (remember Sarah, Plain and Tall?) and illustrated by Mike Wimmer.
I know. I’m a thirty-something white-privileged woman who grew up in the rural Midwest culture of hunting and fishing, drinking, and football. The most common threats I face are wild animals, snowstorms, and drunk drivers.
I’m not here to tell you I get it – the complex layers of race issues in America, the history and the causes and all of the intense hurt surrounding injustice.
But please don’t think, because of my status, that I’m unaffected. Few people are unaffected these days by such sad times in our country.
Yes, racism exists. I knew it long before the formation of Black Lives Matter. I knew it before it was on the news every single day — before we knew the names Trayvon Martin and Michael Brown and Eric Garner.
I knew it when I was twenty and I exited the interstate in downtown Chicago rush hour traffic in desperation for a public bathroom. I found a fast food restaurant and walked in, quickly noticing that I was the only white person there…
Continue to full post –>
Just around the time my middle son turned five and morphed into a loving, funny little human capable of logic and reasoning, my youngest turned three.
I should have seen this coming – the “threenage” years. I should have prepared myself for the onslaught of destruction and nastiness and upheaval that comes with the threes.
Come on, Harrison! Get your head in the game. Ear plugs. Fresh tennies. Rubber gloves, stat! Continue reading
Marriage is hard. It’s hard because life is hard. Because relationships are hard.
My Love and I are celebrating a decade of marriage today, and I mean CELEBRATING, because honestly, there was a time or two we didn’t know how we’d make it.
I’m dishing out truth today at HVFH about how two broken people kept their marriage from breaking.
Read the full post here –>
Cheers to ten!
*Featured image via Canva
A few people have asked what happened to the recent Grand Edits Guest Feature about the adoptive family from Indiana. We decided it was best to tuck the post away until the adoption is complete. We hope to bring it back soon! Thanks for the kind thoughts and prayers for this couple as they journey through the process of becoming family.
I recently interviewed two women living with Multiple Sclerosis for a Grand Edits guest feature. When I asked them to speak about the life they envisioned as young women compared to the reality of their lives today, they both agreed that though they never dreamed they’d have MS and surely don’t want MS, the diagnosis has allowed them to connect with and help others who are facing the same illness, or working through other life struggles.
I think about this often – the way our circumstances create opportunities to help others who are suffering.
In my days of volunteering as a client advocate at a pregnancy resource center, a young woman came to an appointment in distress because her baby (still in utero) had been diagnosed with renal hydronephrosis. This malformation causes dilation in the kidney pelvis and can mean surgical correction shortly after birth.
My client and I had a long conversation that day about the what-ifs. It’s hard for a momma to be faced with the possibility of her newborn baby being whisked off to surgery in his or her first days in the world. We talked a lot about fear that day. About vulnerability.
I told her I understood how she was feeling, and I really meant it. My own son had been diagnosed with renal hydronephrosis less than two years prior to the conversation. I remembered the diagnosis, the scans, the machines. I remembered the fear.
Read the full post (HVFH) –>
I started this blog in 2014 as a creative outlet and a means of anchoring myself in regular writing practice. I prayed that my work might be an encouragement to others, set a goal of 100 subscribers, and pressed “Publish.”
Things picked up faster than I expected. I started writing for Her View from Home, and several outside sites began picking up my essays, especially the following article, “Not My Child: Protecting My Son from a Sexual Predator.”
I have a brand new post up today at Her View from Home about the photograph I never took.
I’d love for you to give it a click and let me know if there’s a photo “missing” from your own album.
Thanks for the support, friends!