A husband travels for work. He swaps car seats under the moon, leaves a love note on the coffee beans. Kisses sleeping eyelids. Makes his side of the bed. Tosses a duffel bag over his shoulder, reminds a groggy wife to refill the dehumidifier, water the plant. Don’t forget the fish, OK? Set an alarm
There are few things I consider myself an expert in, but truth be told: if recharging one’s energy with littles underfoot were an Olympic sport (missed opportunity, Greece), I like to think I’d at least take home a bronze. Whatever you call it: recharging, resting, Introvert breaks, “me” time — it can all feel so,
I’m rarely one for how-to or self-improvement books, opting instead for advice unearthed in the twists and tangles of any given life. I find that I learn more when I have to work for it, when its interpretation is my own, a flattened landscape mined deeply for meaning. Memoirs have always been my terrain of
We hadn’t meant to talk about the ethics of consumerism, but alas, the curiosity of a 5-year-old is rarely capable of stifling.
Update: Curious about homeschooling? You can follow along our own homeschool journey right this way! It happens like they say it will: you blink and she’s nearly 6. Long limbs, tangled hair, tiny bruises polka dotting her shins from rope-climbing, tree-jumping. I cut her pants into shorts for the onslaught of spring, smile at the
I’ve reached the age in which my nieces and nephews are graduating from high school, where gift-giving calls for a waffle-maker or a mini fridge rather than a Matchbox car, a stuffed teddy. It is jarring, always, for the adult to find she is the adult. I’d imagine it is even moreso jarring for a
Head’s up: Sponsored by Walmart.com. Lately, I have found myself feeling more Mary Poppins than Marine. Jolly holiday in lieu of boot camp, more singing of reminders (admittedly off-tune), less barking of commands. While there are a number of explanations worth considering – springtime on the horizon, the magical ages of near-6 and almost-2, tactical
I am often losing myself in things, in seasons, quicker than a phase of the moon. I am able to be swallowed entirely by a single turn of events, or a string of such. Sometimes, all it takes is a song. Once, as a child, my swim coach pulls me aside after practice, holds the