Our home hasn’t found sleep in the past few nights, for reasons we don’t yet know. We’ve been tossing bedspreads to the floor, flipping pillows to the cool side. This morning, I called a truce earlier than usual, padded out to the dark dining room to find even the dogs trotting on my heels, ever
Last week, the first snowfall. We wake to small styrofoam beads glistening in the yard, the patio, the trees. It’s Christmas! says Scout. It’s snow! says Bee. Soon, they’ll both be right.
To be fair, I’m not a present purist. When it comes to Christmas, there are few philosophies I stand by universally, except this: the best gifts for the ones you love are the ones they’ll love. What this means, for my own small crew, is that no matter how much I want to dole out
“He still doesn’t sleep through the night?” is what she said to me, and I laugh. He does not, this 2-year-old diplomat. He cries out, asks to be rocked, asks to be held, asks for a bottle, asks for a diaper change. While the world sleeps, he lures me into something different. I can’t accurately
I haven’t written anything in a long stretch. It wasn’t intended, never is, the blinking cursor abandoned for house projects like clean garages and a re-carpeted bedroom. Yesterday, I gave up an attempt to patch a hole in the rubber hose in favor of a water balloon toss. This, the beat of our summer –
In the morning, we pile pillows for wrestling. No biting, that’s the rule. (One participant is decidedly less compliant than the other.)
Ours was a week that was both glorious and terrible. Bikes and bistros, disagreements and diaper rash. For every moment of beauty, it seemed, a futile moment trailed. Laughter around a bonfire, the bite of a mosquito. Tortoise hunts, a bloody fall on the rocks. Trust gained, trust lost. Small and ill-timed furies shouldered until
Early this week, in a Chicago hotel room, I order French toast for eating in bed. Two rarities: sugar and silence. I’m punchy with anticipation. But then it arrives, and the plate is hard to balance on my legs, keeps tipping askew, the knife in need of a stable surface for cutting. I move to