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rainy poetry lessons
Each week for the past three years I’ve had this sweet opportunity to teach a bunch of kids that I love a little bit about something else that I love – words. Once upon a time, when I was a full time teacher in a different capacity, and I taught students at a traditional school, a fellow English teacher gave…
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The Story of The Hike.
Remember our family camping campaign? Well, ever since we had the idea to camp monthly and to specifically visit South Carolina state parks, Edisto Beach State Park has been high on our list of must-visits. Somehow, though, it never happened. Mainly because it’s a super popular campground, apparently. It is frequently booked and reserving a campsite has been a challenge.…
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Notes From The Weekend
You know what? I have more ideas for blog posts than I have time for writing said blog posts. Seems I am always out of time lately. And that’s alright for now. Nighttime choices often determine the course of my quiet hours usually reserved for writing. So it’s very late and I am stealing a few minutes where I can.…
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the only choice
Cuddling beside my boy, his shaggy hair between my fingers. It’s late and he wants to talk. I was going to offer a quick tuck in and then do some writing, some reading, some anything else in the magical quiet hours after children fall asleep. But he pressed his back against me, shoved his ever-growing, warm, newly size 6 feet…
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written from the middle of my bed
Mornings are hard. The warm bed, the thick covers, the heavy breathing of my sons beside me. I don’t want to leave the bed. The alarm goes off and I hold my stupid little phone in my fist and squint at the screen to see what time it is. To determine how many extra minutes I can squeeze out of…
Keep Reading . . .
going dark . . .
teens. parenting them.
Losing Time: The Cost of Spontaneity This Week
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The Day I Went To A Gym
I don’t know why I said yes. Well. I kind of do. But, that’s probably a story for another post. All I know is on a Friday afternoon I found myself wearing some kind of black legging thing, a running skirt, a t-shirt and a confused look on my face. Mirrors lined one wall. People were sweating and I felt…
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just enough
Spring. The Good. Sunshine just warm enough to make the shade feel sweet. Breezes just strong enough to float blossoms and blooms across the yard. The white floating petals just enough like the opening sequence of a romantic movie to make you sigh audibly. The temperature just moderate enough to make all clothing choices acceptable. The hope just tangible enough…
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wait
I have never waited well. I am terrible at transitions. I abhor in-between. I want to be Here or There but I cannot abide Nowhere. And yet this season this season I wait. I sit still and I try not to pace but I feel my feet shuffling. I try not to fret but I feel my heart pounding. People…
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just reminding myself
What My Life Is Not: a burden something I must endure days to get through rejected about me as the central figure a picture perfect plan in my control What My Life Is: a gift an opportunity a work of art poetry accepted rescued in God’s hands What My Children Are Not: my salvation a liability in my complete control…
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sing about it
Sometimes I think of my life in terms of song titles. And, of course, the titles change in my mind as quickly as they change on the radio. Give me four minutes and my thoughts will probably shift. Right now I’m drifting back in rock history to Pink Floyd’s “Comfortably Numb”. Tell me your title for the last four minutes of…
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explanation required
London has a calendar hanging on her bedroom wall. She loves to cross off the days as they are done. Big X’s across every day. I think she likes the way it looks – but for me, it feels like all these days disappearing in giant Xs. Anyway. I looked at her calendar as I was braiding her hair during…
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coming home.
So we were supposed to travel to Texas. But you know – the kids got sick and fourteen hours in the car seemed risky business – so Virginia was the consolation prize. (Never a bad place to be – that home state.) You might think while I was gone our house would rest in its silence and emptiness. But you’d…
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words.
There are so many words I need to say. And I can’t say. Or words I want to say. But I shouldn’t say. It’s a jumble up here in my brain most all of the time. My days just don’t look like they used to. (I should win a prize for making understatements.) My heart cries out every day –…
