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
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
She: Collecting ants. Digging for worms. Riding loops on her balance bike. Reading her first sentences. Fighting with Bernie. Asking for Band-Aids, asking to visit Grandma, asking for a sibling. Wishing for the moon. He: Planning a renovation project for fun (I cannot relate to this man’s level of energy). Listening to 70’s on high
Well, here’s a question I’m asked near-weekly: How do you navigate the balance between your child’s privacy and sharing your perspective of motherhood? And how do I? How should we? What about the kids? It’s my favorite question. I love it for a slew of reasons. I love it because we’re being mindful. I love
When Bee was a baby, I’d sit down during her naps and write long-winded letters to her: personality peeks, successful milestones, my own parenting fears/doubts/triumphs. It was a beautiful practice, and I always imagined bundling them up to offer her on the day she’d perhaps decide to become a parent, too. But as she grew
For posterity, is all: Dear God, It’s me! Thank you for a wonderful day. Actually (Mom, can I say actually? – Yes, you can say actually), OK, actually, thank you for hedgehogs, too. I think they are just so funny when they sneeze. Please help me to sleep good. Thank you for my hair and
Well, it’s just that the days are really, really long in the short kind of way. The dark by 5:30 way, the pent up energy way, the bouncing from walls way (her) and the silence, please way (you). The beauty of motherhood is that you learn to power through it. You do it because you
I’ve been trying not to shoo her out of the kitchen. I’ve been trying to see meal prep as a learning experience, as an opportunity to teach her the beauty of nourishing others – both their hearts and their bellies. But then I glance at her hair in the egg yolk and see the raw