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
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
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
The Frozen Moon 