One Fine Morning...

Every once in awhile I like to blast that song, "Feel this Moment" sung by Pitbull and Christina Aguilara. That's a pretty awesome confession, I know. But I do like that song (it's a great one to run to), and I even like its message: One day when my light is glowing I'll be in  my castle golden But until the gates are open I just want to feel this moment... I've been thinking a lot about that message lately. For too much of my time each day, I'm not in the moment, not present, not aware. Sometimes I blame that on having two little ones whose needs are physically demanding. It seems as soon as I make breakfast, there's a spill to mop up, then more laundry to do, beds to make, noses to wipe, ouches to bandage and then its lunchtime and it all starts again. I confess that there are moments that I wish away--banal every day things like changing a diaper or sitting with Lillian through another first grade homework assignment--only to find that the mo...

There are so many things I want to write about, ideas waiting in my mind like little blue robin eggs, waiting for me to articulate them into birds with wings to fly. I am still learning how to mange my time as a stay at home mother, learning to accept that time spent on a swing set or putting train sets together counts as an accomplishment for the day; learning that social media can both connect and disconnect me from what matters most; learning how to strike a balance between finishing chores and nurturing my children appropriately and effectively. It seems that when I do finally sit down to write, the first initial sentences tumble out easily and then I'm stymied, which turns into distraction and then, often, sleep. Those unfinished drafts will sit a little longer, I suppose, in my files. Today I want to write about my boy. Even as I begin to do so, I find I hesitate, bound by the worry that by sharing it over a blog makes the moment or my feelings more inauthentic. The burd...

Seems like a lot of folks these days spend a lot of time talking and--dare I say-- agonizing over the Common Core. I don't know much about it, and I'm not really therefore in a place to debate it, and that's not what I'm writing about today. I am writing about a comment that Lillian's teacher wrote on her report card, a report card which, thanks to the Common Core, is sort of a lot of words telling me nothing really except that my child isn't behind and isn't ahead and is therefore floating somewhere along average. As her mother, of course, I see it as my God-given right to vehemently argue that the terms "average" and "Lillian" never go hand in hand. So, that's what I do, I just vehemently disagree, and then I smile wryly at myself  as I compose an email in my head that I never intend to send; then I laugh at my parent self having to deal with my teacher self (the self that reprimands the email composed in my head and sides with...

We are experiencing one of the coldest winters on record here in good old Western New York. It's too cold to venture outside for any longer than the time it takes to get in and out of the car. While the snow has been frequent and often abundant, and we are always sun deprived these winter months, it is the bitter cold that has been the hardest thing to endure this particular winter. March has been no exception; in fact, it has gotten only colder as the weeks have passed. There have been one or two days above 30 degrees, but most days are freezing--literally. As a result, the little buds of peonies and daffodils that are the first to poke their heads out of the ground have been shy. On days when I can brave the wind chill, I've looked through our flower beds to see any semblance if green coming out of the ground. Every year those little growths of green are a profound symbol of hope and rebirth. No matter how cold or snowy it is, when I see something growing in my flower gar...

Sometime in 2004 I bought a silver Honda CRV. I loved that car from the moment I saw it, and for ten years now it has been my friend. I'm feeling nostalgic about that car because we sold it about three weeks ago and got into a hot mess after that. Is it karma? Not sure. When we went to get the Honda inspected last month, we found out that it could never again pass inspection unless we wanted to put in a new engine. Yes, we are all about driving our cars until they die, and yes, we recognized that this moment of near-death was our sign that we should surrender the old girl. We thought about giving it to the junk yard, but our friend Tyler down the street (his daughter is the one who joined Lillian in the unfortunate squat-and-drop incident a couple of weeks ago) recommended we try selling the car on Craigslist. We were game for that. So, we took some pictures and posted an ad that said the car needed a major overhaul, but anyone who wanted it to fix, or wanted it for parts, was ...

There's a verse in James from which, particularly at certain points in my life, I've derived great comfort. It reads, "Behold, we count them happy which endure. Yes have heard of the patience of Job, and have seen the end of the Lord, that The Lord is very pitiful and full of tender mercy." The phrase in that verse that is most meaningful to me is "the end of the Lord." It only appears in the Bible twice. It seems to denote that moment when all is made right, or that moment when the end has come and we see how Divine Choreography played into the design and plan of our lives. Furthermore, James seems to suggest that our part in waiting for "the end of the Lord" is to act with patience and faith. Ah, therein lies the challenge. There, in that thought, lies the agony of overcoming ones fears and learning to trust in a power mightier than oneself. I have found myself in this place before, and I will find myself there again. And learning to place ...

My five year old daughter is fearless--to an extent. Awesome stunts in our hotel room in California She can handle the most gravity-defying roller coasters with a smile and a breathless, "Let's do that again!" whispered through her wind tousled blonde hair. She sizes up most strangers and observes them carefully, and does not quell nor quake from the appearance of the largest to smallest. She got on the school bus and never looked back, as she did the first time she went to preschool or walked into her first gymnastics class. The thought to be nervous or afraid literally never crosses her mind. However, like most of us, Lillian's fearlessness has a limit. An unfortunate accident last year with a small kiddie pool and some broken glass landed her front and center with a large needle and four stitches, administered (for various reasons) without the aid of of any numbing or anesthesia. Not surprisingly, Lillian now lives in utter terror that she will one day have...

I read an article in the BYU Humanities Magazine several months ago which, among other worthy suggestions, stated that taking time to write every day was a most worthy endeavor.  I don't know why I've stopped writing--there's a myriad of excuses and reasons--but I do know that ceasing to write has caused me to be a little more disconnected from others, and from myself. I'd like to start writing again, and this blog seems a worthy place to do so. I'm in a place in my life where I have more questions than answers, and writing is perhaps, of all its many purposes, an excellent way for me to think, or to figure out what I think. And so--my thoughts today center on new beginnings, and ways I can make this year a good one for myself and for my family. It has not been the easiest of weeks around our house. Freezing temperatures have held us hostage for many days, and while the thoughts of a glorious vacation to California is still hardly faded from my recent memory, th...