Hello, Friends!
I hope your Christmas was meaningful and merry, and that you’ve had a little time this weekend to recoup from the excitement.
A few weeks ago, I wrote about the decision to give my 21-month-old son a doll for Christmas. You can read the original post here: Guys and Dolls
I promised an after-Christmas update on how the doll was received by a family of three boys. Here it is… Continue reading
One of my favorite times of the day is when I first hear my 22-month-old son Miles talking in his crib in the morning. Sometimes it’s earlier than I want it to be, and I know that when I step out of bed and walk past the balcony door, my ankles will be hit with a cold draft. I know that as soon as we go downstairs, I’ll be filling cups and cutting toast and refereeing squabbles and gathering gear for outings. Continue reading
I couldn’t do crowds and lines this year. I skipped shopping at the mall. I skipped parties and white elephant gift exchanges. It was just too much to keep going out when I wanted to keep going in. Continue reading
Last week, I wrote about the decision to give my son Miles a doll for Christmas. While stewing over gift-giving options, I expressed my dilemma to a friend: “I just don’t know what to get these kids who have everything.”
To this, she replied, “Do you have to get them a gift?” Continue reading
My 21-month-old son is getting a doll for Christmas. His older brothers are getting snowshoes, a compound bow, a humongous snow tube. Miles is getting a doll.
It’s a boy doll. He’s got a charming mop of brown hair and a backwards baseball cap. When I asked my husband to choose from a couple options (without looking at price tags – hehe), he said, “That’s the one. That one reminds me of Miles.” I totally agreed. The doll is sporting a bright bandanna around his neck and the thoughtful half-smile that our Miles wears often. Continue reading
All of life is a draft. We look ahead with expectations and hopes of what the future will bring, but often, despite our choices, despite our resolve, events or circumstances beyond our control force us to rethink our plans. We edit our pages, making grand revisions, accepting the twists and turns of our story, doing all we can with what we are given, determined to create a narrative that is beautiful, albeit messy — our own shabby, yet shimmering story. Continue reading
Me in a tree. Circa 1988.
My arms were linguine as I climbed the high-dive platform ladder at the Northern Michigan University pool. I was nine years old. My dad tread water below me, black hair stuck to his forehead, mustache sagging and shiny. Continue reading
I’ve been staring at the computer monitor in my basement dungeon office for twenty minutes, half-working and half-listening to my husband teach my oldest son about triangles. Continue reading
There’s a colossal, well-meaning push in modern family and parenting culture to be intentional, mindful, present and attuned to every moment of every day. Writers, authors, speakers are reminding us that little things matter a ton. The mundane is SACRED, people! Ordinary is beautiful — it’s HOLY! Continue reading
I slipped my bare feet from beneath the covers and tiptoed across the hardwood floor to the bathroom. Locking the door behind me, I quietly tore into the foil wrapper, removing the plastic stick marked PREGNANT and NOT PREGNANT. Continue reading
REVISIONS OF GRANDEUR 