Living simply does not mean you decant quinoa into glass jars and your medicine cabinet is free of Pepto Bismol. It does not mean you wear the same moccasins daily, or that you have long wavy hair and a flower crown and you frolic in the field by day and when the moon rises, look,
You were wild. You were big and unruly, a giant butterfly in the draperies. You were backyard swinging and hammock reading, leaf collecting and worm searching. You were skinned knees and balance bike riding and Mom, can I wear my helmet to the grocery store? and Well, yeah, I guess so, if you want? You
A year now. For a year now, I’ve been trying a new way of being. It’s a slower life, one that allows a tiny splash of grace to trickle into the moments that are frenzied, like when the dogs are barking and the kitchen timer just went off, and the toddler peed on the rug
Cure is perhaps the wrong word, but I have seen this technique work time and time again, in my own life and in the life of others. It worked when I found myself in Los Angeles, lost in the Sepulveda sea, pulling over and enduring my second panic attack of the week. It worked when
I don’t believe in twisting yourself into knots of excuses and explanations over the food you make. Julia Child said this. A recipe, then. It’s an easy one, and a nutritious one, and it requires five minutes and a blender. No knots, no excuses, no explanations. I like to dress it up when I make
On balance, then. What we have come to think about balance, of equal parts work and play and rest and love and parenting and cubicles and zoos and coffee and gym? What we have come to think about the balancing of these activities, of these roles, of these doings is wrong. Do you want balance?
“I like Dad better than you.” Well, she said it. My fear had materialized in a single statement, and you know, the context of these things matter. I had thought she’d say it in the midst of a lecture, or when I was asking her to do a Not Fun thing that perhaps Ken doesn’t
I am continually shying away from sharing Hows. I don’t know, it just seems like my favorite advice has always been to throw caution to the wind and dig your own ditch. But here’s a story: I dog-sat for my mother-in-law this weekend. She is a lovely tiny Oreo-spotted dog that doesn’t bark, a rare