MOTHERHOOD
rest time in our home
Olive’s crying right now. For the second time, I’ve returned her to her bed for rest, a quiet both of us need. I’ve seen this phase out of daytime sleep on the horizon for a
a {public} note about love: eleven years of marriage
Mark and I are married 11 years today, a year that has been the most difficult and yet binding; the kind of year that forces our heart roots, once shallow and neatly divided, deeper into
a letter about family meals: a mother’s legacy
Mom, You blew into our daily lives for a brief three days last week to help Kristen and me collect pieces of our days and time. With each visit, I try to take more of
{this moment}: a slow, snugly morning
{this moment}: A Friday ritual. A single photo (or group of photos) capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor, and remember. (inspired by soulemama)
lately
1. soaking up tender moments with the kids. 2. keeping meals simple at home. 3. inspired by pink. 4. reading My Ántonia by Willa Cather. 5. pocketing advice from the walls of Jimmy John’s. 6.
final light + our backyard + husband next to me + kids playing + red wine + 65˚ = {this
{this moment}: A Friday ritual. A single photo (or group of photos) capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor, and remember. (inspired by soulemama)
on love |the messy sort that endures all
Mark, I wonder if I’ll ever forget that moment. That phone call. That evening, sitting by the pool at my parent’s house, talking about American Beauty, interrupted. Life, interrupted. I had only spent days with
our homeschool in pictures | daily routine
I’ve had several requests to post a “day in our life,” and it actually surprised me how difficult it was to log a full day’s activity! But I did it, even though this day happened
the trouble with imaginary belly buttons
Garfield, Blythe, age 5, crayons and ink pen “Mom!” Blythe’s running at me, distraughtly waving a piece of paper. “Mom! I’m throwing away my Garfield drawing!” “Your what?” “My Garfield drawing.” I’m baffled (and oddly enough