The words we speak become the house we live in. – Hafiz I’ve been staring at the quote for twenty minutes now. The cursor is blinking, blinking, blinking… …blinking. And I’m not sure where to begin. Long story short, it’s time to move houses. Both,… Read More
I’m writing this morning. Because June was intense. Because I drove so many miles, worked so many shoots. Because my hands and wrists ache and my body feels beaten. Because the characters in my head have begun to circle back around and around, nagging at me… Read More
Oh, humility. We meet again, here, bumping up alongside one another in the fog of motherhood. Motherhood that bends our knees and tightens our shoulders, that spins webs of worries and gives us no rest, beneath the ceiling fan on an eighty-degree night. I hear… Read More
Dear Beginning of the School Year Melanie, You think you’re ready. You’ve prepped yourself by reading homeschool blogs, talking to homeschool moms, buying subscriptions to online education sites, printables sites, buying enough books and curriculum to serve an entire classroom of children, more than enough for… Read More
Lately, Evaline has been coming to my bed in the morning hours and curling up as close as possible to me. This morning, she bumped her forehead against mine and told me, as she does every morning, I love you too, Mama. I hadn’t said a… Read More
Twelve years ago, we were new. Seemingly everyone in our world was, too. We spent our summer months in churches, on open lawns, in function halls. It was the season of new lives, of two becoming one, of buying flatware and woks from gift registries. I was twenty-two,… Read More
I find it increasingly fitting that as our school year unravels like a sweater with a loose thread, my children have become (much later than their peers) obsessed with the movie Frozen, and in particular, the anthem: Let It Go! Because, oh, we’re gone. I… Read More
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
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
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
The Frozen Moon 