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
Kids think of the best ideas. It all started with this book, launching a whole foray into Bee’s fervent mastery of the paper pocket, her small hands folding in and out of frustration over the attempts. After the skill was adequately aced, our home began to resemble a UPS store for a time, dozens of
Melted snow penguins on the back porch. Red pepper relish with dinner. A balmy 56 degree day in the middle of January and we didn’t even think to open the windows.
Moon? he says. It’s his favorite question each morning, and soon begins the raising of the eyebrows, a gesturing toward the front door. Moon? Moon? Moon? He wants to see it high in the sky, long after it’s gone, long after the birds are singing and the sun has risen. Often, I do too.
The baby will wake, often, up and down, eyes popping wide and fading shut, and it will be a running joke in your family that you, the mother, will be physically unable to lull him to sleep. The baby will have figured you out, he will have found the loophole. When he cries out and
One of my most frequently asked questions in a podcast interview or Q&A session is always some measured form of this: OK, yes. I get it. I see the importance here. But how do I get my spouse/roommate/community to support and adapt to my decision to live more simply? How do I live as a
It is possible, and it is essential. Listen: we are doing ourselves no favors when we treat our news cycle as a Pez dispenser — when we pop onto our feed(s) and ingest, ingest, ingest another article/think piece/RT until we’re fat and depressed, full and sick. I will make absolutely no apologies for the increasingly
I am forever wondering if our quest for self-exploration has become burdensome, backwards. Enneagrams, Myers-Briggs – the idea of whittling down our complex personalities to a number and a few letters. Are we placing boundaries where they weren’t intended; living within confines that needn’t be there? While I love nothing better than a tidy definition