My prince lives with me and his pick up truck is blue. I’m not eighteen and I’m pretty sure my mama’s heart is just fine, but still, this song says it all. You can’t fence time. (Or even slow it down.) And you can’t stop love. (From inevitably bringing me right back here.) I’m on…
Juggling practice
Little paper “decorations” are taped all over my house, stuck via finger-print covered tape to the walls and french doors. The discarded clippings litter the floor. I gather them in my palm as I move from task to task after bedtime, trying to resist the urge to rip masterpieces from the walls and hide the…
Life is beautiful
An insanely busy week culminated yesterday in the parking lot of Quinn’s large, downtown school. Traffic rushed past on the four-lane, one-way streets to either side of us. Behind me, “The Castle”, the huge Presbyterian church and school building loomed, cutting across I-90 where it sweeps over the city on giant concrete trestles on its…
In living
In annoying linking to other places, I published one of my favorite first posts on Mamalode. At their root, my fears are selfish, selfish things. It’s not that they can be taken out of this world that strikes the worst fear in me. We all live with that truth. It’s that I could be left…
Frowny doctors are the worst
I took Ambien to sleep last night. I’ve always been plagued by nighttime anxiety. It doesn’t have to be anything earth shattering. In fact, the earth shattering things, I can usually sleep through just fine. It’s the little things that torture me. A call I’ve been putting off, neglecting to read with Quinn on busy…
Crossing over
We weren’t late, but we weren’t early either and when we turned into the triangular intersection that fronts our elementary school we hit an uncharacteristic traffic jam. Someone – a grandparent or friend – who didn’t know the complex etiquette rules of the non-looping, three street clusterfuck that is the front of our school had…
Angels and demons
At Mamalode this week, I found angels hidden in the details when making my bed sent ripples through our whole year. My resolutions for 2012 were to make my bed and to do my hair – no bun. I know. It’s hard to get your mind around that kind of ambition, isn’t it? But in…
In the middle
Hey, don’t write yourself off yet It’s only in your head you feel left out or looked down on Just try your best, try everything you can And don’t you worry what they tell themselves when you’re away — Jimmy Eat World 17°F. 8:59 a.m. We were not late. The sky spit some kind of…
Emotional (in)security Sunday
((I wrote at Mamalode on Friday. My original tale of adoption and miscarriage and hope and perspective. I hope you’ll read it. Or at least click over to see the cute pictures of teeny tiny Saige and Garrett.)) I’m taking a parenting class on Sundays called Circle of Security. CoS is a body of psychological…
Never say never
“I can’t eat this, momma,” Saige holds up the apple from her lunch box and smiles a wide, front-toothless smile. Exhaust, bone-white in the sub-freezing air, drifts over the back of the Suburban, parked on a small snow bank outside of the elementary school. Garrett is supposed to be getting his boots from his classroom,…
