I’ve decided that there are few crueler things you can do to a woman who suffers from (mild?) misophonia, than give her nine year old son a palate expander. Unless, you want to give her son a palate expander at the same time that her seven… Read More
Wiping down the table, re-stacking the ever growing (and ever-tipping) pile of homeschool books, I grumble. This week is too much. Too many nights away from home. Church obligations, house hunting, homeschooling, babysitting, client communications, editing, album design, portrait sessions, baby showers, house offers and house… Read More
I’ve been thinking about tattoos. Not in the way that I did as an eighteen year old, wandering Hampton beach, daydreaming about a butterfly or an ink anklet of flowers – but as a nearly thirty-five year old mom, writer, photographer, wife, domestically average cleaner,… Read More
My daughters do it, naturally. My sons too. On long walks, in parking lots, while running across a playground, during tense scenes in a movie, while sitting beside me in church, while jumping up and down, while passing through the automatic doors of Walmart. It’s a… Read More
This morning, Evaline broke a bowl, split it down the middle in two while attempting to refill it with Goldfish. Lila held the pieces together and announced she could fix it. But, you’ll still see the crack, she said, showing me the damage. It was… Read More
They come in with fistfuls, crushed, warm and wilted in their palms. Dirt under their fingernails, smudged on their cheeks, they each come forth and bring me the soft, yellow riches of their dandelion harvest, the first for this year with it’s late birthing spring. The broken mess of… Read More
I joke that they’ll write tell-all books about me. That one day these children of mine will be full grown and will share their stories with therapists over how awkwardly I fumbled through motherhood: too loud, too quiet, too harsh, too lenient, too many trips to… Read More
On Easter Sunday, between early morning egg hunting and setting up for a church brunch and the start of the morning service, I walked into the quiet sanctuary, stared up at the green projector image proclaiming in simple and neat font: He is risen! And… Read More
It’s a gray Friday morning. My four children are stomping their feet and chanting nonsense around a kitchen chair (which they are also using as a make-shift drum, hammering it with colored pencils.) Tonight, my husband and I will attempt to tone this act down,… Read More
I love my children. If the need ever arises, I would sacrifice myself for my children. No question. But, until that day comes, I am not a doormat or a chauffeur or an enabler, or a martyr to their cause. I’m reminding myself of this,… Read More
The Frozen Moon 