
Don’t Blink
We could have been at gymnastics practice. We could have been at music lessons. Instead, we were in the backyard as last of evening light slowly faded and the sun… Read more Don’t Blink →
We could have been at gymnastics practice. We could have been at music lessons. Instead, we were in the backyard as last of evening light slowly faded and the sun… Read more Don’t Blink →
Nine years ago Jim and I closed on the sale of our townhouse. We moved in on a wet February day wanting a child we seemed unable to conceive, with… Read more Home →
I’m going to come right out and say it – Mothers Day is not my favorite holiday. It has absolutely nothing to do with the holiday itself, and I don’t resent anyone else enjoying it. It’s just hard for me. Sorry, Mothers’ Day, it’s not you, it’s me and my insanely powerful memory. I remember the birth dates of most of my fifth grade classmates. Don’t ask me why; I don’t know. They just stick. I call it the Ken Jennings gene, and I’ve got it bad. I remember the… Read more Memories: Why I Can’t Love Mothers Day →
I just got home from Party City, where I fought back tears. All I bought was wrapping paper and napkins. Liam will be TEN tomorrow. My little boy isn’t having… Read more The Boy who Lived →
Lately, I’ve been feeling low. The past seven months have been a journey to heal myself, and I hit a crossroads recently where the skills I’ve learned were tested and… Read more The Gifts of Perspective and Purpose →
April is a strange month. This April we had twenty-two inches of snow in less than two days. April is full of birthdays, memories, and taxes. April is the time… Read more Seasons Change →
I had second thoughts about ever posting this. Jim and I talked about it. He agreed that it’s absolutely honest, but maybe too honest. We debated whether or not it… Read more Hope Snorts →
My husband Jim works in a kindergarten classroom in the same school where our kids attend third and fourth grade. Jim is a teacher’s assistant, and he is also doing… Read more I Went to School Today . . . →