HomeLife
How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. - Annie Dillard
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cue the laugh track.
Greetings from the Maybe She’s Our Funniest Kid files. “Hey, Mommy – doesn’t Otto look like Gerald?” Piper Finn called to me from the other room. “What?” I asked. “He looks like Gerald.” She was pointing at Otto. (Who, at the moment, looked like ……. Otto.) “Piper,” I asked. “Who is Gerald?” Piper’s hand went to her hip. She looked exasperated but explained mostly patiently, “Hark – the Gerald angel who sings at Christmas.”
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and yet. all this stuff.
Kevin spent the first two weeks of September in another country. Riley will be spending ten months in another country. All summer we all knew The Trip was coming. Our summer was consumed with packing and repacking and weighing bags to be certain they didn’t surpass the 50 pound limit. (And when they did, trying to decide which items mattered least.) And then, suddenly, the day was upon us. Riley’s favorite breakfast of french toast was served. A trip to the airport was taken. Hugs and kisses and farewells and waves and deep sighs. And then the drive home. The house – with six instead of eight. And I think…
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Two weeks is too long.
I’m just so glad my husband is home. The end.
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Facebook. Instagram. iPhone. What do I do with you?
Have you ever thought of throwing your iPhone right into the ocean? Maybe driving over it with the giant tires in your SUV? Do you think of deleting your Facebook account and cutting the cord to social media in one swift slice? It’s almost cliche now – this love/hate relationship with Instagram and Facebook and email and a tiny touch computer screen we carry in our pockets. When we do struggle with conviction about time spent online versus time spent looking at a real human, we share that via our Facebook status. It’s so ironic. “Ahh. I’m turning off my Facebook page,” we announce. On Facebook. I’m not mocking conviction.…
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baking. or I am going to miss my kid.
I was in the kitchen. Making oatmeal cream pies for Riley for a surprise going away party. Because that was her last Saturday in the United States for the next ten months. Because I love her. Because she’s my kid and I’m her mom and this is what I do. And maybe it was the oatmeal cream pies. Or the absolute solitude I was experiencing – a rare phenomena at this season of my life. I don’t know. I’m sure it’s everything. I was thinking about brown sugar and oatmeal and wondering if rolled oats were all that different from old-fashioned oats and why it really mattered anyway and suddenly…
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Forty: I Love You.
These forty days of celebrating forty have changed my life. Are changing my life. FORTY days. Forty days of good things. Forty days of waking up with a light heart (even on heavy days) and wondering what good was coming my way. And knowing, knowing, that some good was coming my way. Despite whatever the day might hold – urine on the floor, bad news at work, delays at home, bills to pay – at least at one point during my twenty-four hours on that very day, something good was going to happen. To me. For me. It’s been unbelievable. At once humbling and celebratory and exciting and hopeful and…
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and so the school year has officially begun ….
The internets was overflowing with them yesterday. Cute back to school pictures. Bus rides and classroom doors and lunch boxes and kitchen tables and posters announcing the grades. Monday was our day to start up again too. Four students attending Wildwood this year. Same number as last year. Riley exited stage right and Finnian entered stage left. I like back to school just fine although I can’t seem to explain how summer leapt by this year and my mind still can’t believe one of my own graduated all officially and stuff. This school year I’ve been more excited about beginning than usual though . We are using the Prairie Primer…
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a lovely misery
The juxtaposition of lovely and miserable in this home is hard to ignore. Example One: The outside door of our bedroom. It opens to the porch. In the spring, in the summer, in the fall – it’s glorious. Waking up to a breeze, an old-fashioned lace curtain swaying, green trees, an inviting porch hammock. It’s picturesque. That same door – come winter – doesn’t seal appropriately and causes no end of frigid air to fill our room. Waking up to a breeze of a different nature is so much less inviting. Example Two: Old-fashioned, beautifully detailed fireplaces in three rooms. Lovely wood. Completely unusable fire places that are too pretty to cover…
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the birthday decision. decided.
Remember that birthday treasure I received? (I still can’t believe the generosity of my friends!) Although I was sorely tempted to spend the loot on a bill payment, I’m a rule follower at heart. (Plus, I really like birthday presents!) And so …. I picked two things. After discovering the Ninja for a great deal available online and realizing that I would have a bit of leftover cash, I started scouring Craigslist. And found a leather chair. A grown up piece of living room furniture. It’s beautiful. And it can replace the ripped, sad, imitation blue velour thrift store Grandma’s chair I picked up for $20 five years ago. Kevin…
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logic. five year old style.
My lovely friend Jo is going to give birth next week. This will be their third baby and she and her husband Jason have chosen to let the baby’s gender be a surprise. That seems like a giant deal to me. I love the mystery of it, the anticipation. But I know I couldn’t take the suspense. I just need to know. But they don’t. And this one is their baby so they get to choose. Aren’t we glad life works that’s way? Mostly? Anyway. The kids and I were talking about this much anticipated baby human. And I say, “I can’t wait to find out if it is a…
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parenting . . .
You know what’s hard? I mean, extremely difficult, without cut and dried answers? Parenting. It’s like a choose your own adventure book with new endings and twists being added each time you set the book down for a short break. It’s just so complicated. Worthy of your efforts? Without question. But hard. So ridiculously hard. It’s the kind of hard that makes you want to cuss, cry, rant, hug your own momma and daddy, pull your hair out, ask for help from strangers on the street, pretend you’ve got it all figured out, believe your own junk will ruin your children, find a time machine, hide in the bathroom. That…
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forty days
It was maybe eight a.m. I think I had already brushed my teeth but I was still wearing the clothes I had slept in. Trying to edit a few photos, I had my back to the door in our school room when I heard footsteps. I glanced and saw Kevin and I stood up to tell him good morning. And then I saw Sally. Sally! In my house at eight o’clock in the morning! In my house in South Carolina! Incredible. Unbelievable. Surprising. So so sweet. I don’t think I even realized the amazingness until after it was over. Sort of surreal to share breakfast with Oma completely unexpectedly. She…
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Charleston by means of Forty
I guess it was meant to be. Three girls all born on the same day of three different months. The 23rd. All with Beth in our names. (Beth. Gretchen Beth. Lacey Elizabeth.) Attending the same small college in the hills of Kentucky. Choosing to make a Big Deal of the year we passed the second decade of our lives led to making a big deal of the third decade we trucked right past and landed us right at the base of our fourth decade. Forty brought us Asheville for Beth and for me ….. Charleston. I’d never been before. Nor had they. Here’s what we did: Beth picked me up…
