My 10-year-old self loved many a summer days – air slick with freedom, elbows slick from cherry popsicles. An entire universe whirling by from the banana seat of my lustrous purple Huffy. Cicada symphonies. Gingham feasts. Chlorinated hair. And then, I grew. From inches higher, the neighborhood creek seemed far less adventurous than the latest
Early this week, Bee fell ill with inexplicable fevers, midnight shrieking she couldn’t shake. Doctor’s visits, a 911 call. Night terrors, it was diagnosed. Common for her age, it was said. Our instructions: cold compresses to the forehead, a tepid bath, fluids. While water seems a small attempt to rush the wild vacancy from her
Of all the raised eyebrows we garnered from our former HGTV.com show, the DIY sauna brought forth the most questions, hands down. Where’d you put it? How big is it? How does it work? And mostly: Why on earth?
Well yes, the 6pm thing. Your questions: How do you manage to get to bed by 6pm on weekdays? How does it work? What does it look like with kids? When do they go to bed? When do you see your husband? And so, some answers:
Of all the questions I am asked on the regular, my daily routine is (hands down) the most frequent. And oh, how I get it. Daily routines are the structure for everything we do, every habit we establish, every ritual we keep. I believe in routines wholeheartedly, that a good one is as close as
The seasons that run smoothly for me are, unsurprisingly, the ones that involve focus and order. The routines, the boundaries, the guidelines – I’m wired for it all. Once, on a hot July day when I was no taller than her mailbox, my aunt announces a trip to the fair to pet the pigs, try
Well, no, I can’t exactly claim the same perspectives (nor groundbreaking insights) of Virginia Woolf. But truthfully, I’d never deny the beauty of a room of one’s own. A space for writing or thinking, for arranging things just-so, for practicing what it means to make a small, seemingly insignificant mark on this world – or
Head’s Up: Sponsored by Nest This is how it would go: the doorbell rings and the dogs bark and I shush the kids, army-crawl over to the corner of my kitchen where I sneak onto my tiptoes to peek above the half-wall – ever-slowly – so I can see the doorbell-ringer but the doorbell-ringer can’t