She // is busy // picking up // pouring out // meeting // needs.
In 2019, I was constantly in motion. Rising early to beat the call of “Mommy!”; gulping down hot coffee; speeding to school pickup; racing through bedtime stories only to crash into bed, exhausted. My planner — bursting with appointments, birthdays, tasks and deadlines — was my compass. I scrawled my dreams in the margins. I … Continue reading My 2020 intention
For a little boy who celebrates fresh flakes with spontaneous snow angels, For his bear hugs & sloppy kisses, For the sweet taste of his remaining Halloween candy, freely given (seems like all our talk of generosity is sinking in, eh?), For building towers & bedtime stories, For every blessed time he utters, “I love you … Continue reading A prayer of thanksgiving
He just wanted banana bread. Eager to please and to get us out of the house, I obliged. We sat side by side in a bustling Starbucks, stealing a moment together before work and school. My son slurped apple juice and nibbled at his bread. I sipped my coffee, barely tasting it. Eyes glued to … Continue reading Banana bread, gun violence and facing the daylight
The blare of my alarm snaps me out of a dream. Eyes half-shut, I roll over to silence it, then consider my options. If I get up now, I can write. Maybe. There’s always a chance I could wake my son, a light sleeper, and lose the gift of time. Or I can sink back … Continue reading On writing through motherhood
She clicks her laptop shut and announces, “Well, that’s enough for today.” She considers her son’s laundry basket, the dirty dishes, scattered hot wheels in the playroom. Working is her default mode; she finds it hard to relax. But the sun is shining through the blinds, and there’s a kiddie pool filled to the brim … Continue reading Snapshot of a summer afternoon
“Jack got in a fight at school today,” she reports, pushing an accident slip toward me. I take the slip and crouch down to examine a fingernail-shaped scratch on my son’s head. “Poor buddy,” I say, pulling him into a hug. I look up and ask, “What happened?” “He and another boy wanted the same … Continue reading A mother’s worry