Oh, you homeschool? my barista asks. Bee and I are camped out in a corner sofa working on a reading lesson, a flaxseed bar in her hand, a lavender latte in mine. For now! I say. For now! is always my answer, my standard go-to. After all, this is preschool we’re talking, so the stakes
Here’s the funny thing about time, for us. We weren’t given a lot from the gate, or at least, it hadn’t seemed like it. As a new bride, I was determined to make the most of what could perhaps be a short marriage. We packed sweaters and books into Rubbermaid bins, stuffed our pillows in
We’re at the home of friends, and we’ve been given a quintessential summer night in the Midwest. Salsa on the dinner table, tortilla crumbs at our feet, Moscow Mules sweating in bright copper mugs. Later, there will be sticky marshmallow fingers, peed pants, an impromptu shower, a borrowed t-shirt. Later, the mosquitoes will arrive around
Did you know seahorses turn around and change colors because they love each other? We’re together, Bee and me. We’re sitting on the deck, surveying the garden, checking the strawberries, watching her pinwheel circle around in blues and pinks and yellows. She is, per usual, feeling chatty. Really? I ask. Really! she says. I learned
You’re a mother, but you want to be a doctor. You’re a chef, but you want to be a hair stylist. You’re a tattoo artist, but you want to be a writer. You’re a student, but you want to be a musician. You’re a musician, but you want to be a student. You’re a this,
Surely you don’t ever struggle with taking constructive criticism personally? Surely you don’t consider yourself open-minded, open-hearted, ready and able to accept even the harshest of feedback until suddenly, you find yourself with wet hair and cold coffee and your pants are feeling tight and the toddler is whining and your husband chooses this precise
There was a time I didn’t answer the door. — Once, when I was pregnant with Bee, an acquaintance I’d known from church asked if she could bring dinner over after the baby was born. Do you like Greek? she’d asked. (I love Greek.) But then, the baby was born and the visitors descended and
When your dad’s a photographer/filmmaker, you’re bound to pick up an interest sooner or later. It’s in the air, a synergy of moments and movements, of creating and curating, of noticing, of stillness, of shhhhh. The edit. — Can I have my own camera? she asks. Someday, I say, and I find myself asking Ken
