A journal entry from last month: I’ve felt oh so brain-dead lately. There will be bouts of lucidness, sure, but mostly, I’m over here puttering around the sink, taking out the trash, avoiding cooking, thinking of 500 more ways I can justify breakfast-for-dinner again. What is it? I’m not sure. It’s just a little cloudy
There’s a 4-year-old in my house. It’s an odd thing. She climbs counters to fill her water glass, peels pistachios on her own. Yesterday, I caught her washing her hands unprompted after a bout with sidewalk chalk and I thought, Oh. This is what they were talking about. They. The women who pull you aside
As a kid, I was a frequent journaler. For birthdays or at the height of the school year, I’d receive fresh new stacks of composition notebooks, ready to be scrawled upon in childish loops. They were my favorite things. The possibility, the hope, the faith of discovering something new via the written word. A hundred
Well, really, it was a true treat to chat with Brooke McAlary on her podcast, Slow Your Home. Listen, I’m far from a podcaster, but every now and then – on solo road trips or while mowing the lawn – I’ll plug in for a listen. Brooke’s is a good one – she’s kind, purely
Three things I know to be true: We are wildly imperfect beings. We hold a great many contradictions. We are fluid, ever-changing, ever-trying, ever-adapting. Another thing I know to be true: We are killing each other. — I have read that there are two sides here: the oppressed and the oppressor, and that to remain
Well, it happened. Bee wakes up early, I make coffee, she asks for craft time, I say sure, and while I usually know better, while I usually use this sun-streamed quiet hour wisely, while I usually reach for a book to read while I cook/burn the eggs, while I usually greet the day with my
As a kid, I faithfully attended summer camp year after year. My friends and I’d pile into a 10 passenger van with a reluctant youth leader behind the wheel, all of us belting songs in a decidedly off-key loop: Alice the Camel, Do Your Ears Hang Low. We’d pass Pringles from the back to the
A real thing I said to a girlfriend last year: I think I’ll wait until next year to start volunteering with Bee. Toddler help is sometimes not helpful, you know? A real thing Bee said to me this year: Mom, can we make our neighbor Bob some lunch and take it over to his house
