Sienna has been begging me for weeks to do a lemonade stand. Being the mother I am, I was hesitant, because that sounded like a whole lot of work to me. Mixing powdered Country Time in a pitcher and adding ice, then refilling when it got empty, plus doing some kind of mediation in case it got rowdy or Sienna tried to charge $20 per cup, plus keeping one eye on the three littler minions who would doubtless insist on... Read more
I love the show The Walking Dead. I’ve always loved zombies, but this show, much like Max Brooks’ fait accompli of a novel, World War Z, both scares the pants off me and gives me the most inexplicable hope in humanity. Fans of the show know that walkers are scary, and they’re a threat, sure — to a point. The real threat, the real fear, lies with human beings. Our unpredictability, our cruelty, our lack of love, our malice, our... Read more
I gather that my fellow Patheosi have been talking about catechesis and whatnot while I’ve been…what’s the euphemism? Not playing with a full deck? A bit whimsical in the brain-pan? Mad as a friggin’ hatter? Well, whatever it is, here’s everything I know about catechesis, to illuminate the ongoing conversation. Tonight I was reading a story to Liam that started with, “I wish I lived a thousand years ago…” Suddenly Sienna piped up and said, “Mom, NO! No, you DON’T... Read more
Not everyone was happy with my post yesterday. A few people felt that I was making fun of others, or just plain being mean. I was being a little mean, and I was making fun, but I pointedly directed all that snark toward the principle at stake, not individual people. As I said in my post, I have no leg to stand on when it comes to marriage advice. This isn’t me covering my ass, either. It’s just the truth.... Read more
The other day I caught a link in my newsfeed from Jen Fitz, who linked to this post at momlife Today. One afternoon in 1948, a young Billy Graham invited a few friends—George Beverly Shea, Cliff Barrows, and Grady Wilson— to his hotel room in the city of Modesto. There in that room, the four men decided (among other things) that to protect their marriages they would never be alone in a room or travel alone in a vehicle with... Read more
Yesterday morning, a friend of mine from college was in a car accident with her two young daughters. The girls were life-flighted to a hospital in Salt Lake, where they died yesterday afternoon in the arms of their parents. Olivia and Emma were only 6 and 3 years old. Their parents and their sister Vivian will be taking them back to Maryland for the funeral. If you are able, please consider donating to their GiveForward campaign, which will help defray... Read more
Children vomiting sucks, and I hate it. There’s no getting around the dreaded stomach bug when you’re a mom, but there’s also no use pretending it’s not basically the worst thing ever. That being said, I thought I had reached the apex of upchuck trials when Charlotte, at the age of 18 months, became convinced that the trash can and toilet made her puke, and subsequently puked everywhere but there. This continued well into her third year, and happened to... Read more
Sunday Morning by Everymom Complacencies of the sweatpants, and late coffee and vomit on a worn sofa, and the flesh-colored freedom of a naked baby upon a rug mingle to dissipate the holy hush of ancient sacrifice. She cries a little, and she feels the dark encroachment of the norovirus, as a calm darkens among the toilet bowls. The pungent vomit and sticky, naked baby seem things in some preemptive Purgatory, winding across long hours, with retching sounds.... Read more
Just in case you were worried: I’m not quite fine, but I have been busy and hanging out with my mother-in-law, my mom, and my sister, who have taken turns visiting us the past few weeks. (Somehow I didn’t manage to get pictures of that.) That’s the Hallmark version. The not-so-made-for-TV version can be summed up pretty well in this one email, straight from my typing fingers to the Ogre’s inbox. Subject: Sorry to say that under no circumstances will... Read more
Because I do not hope to turn again Because I do not hope Because I do not hope to turn Desiring this man’s gift and that man’s scope I no longer strive to strive towards such things (Why should the aged eagle stretch its wings?) Why should I mourn The vanished power of the usual reign? Because I do not hope to know again The infirm glory of the positive hour Because I do not think Because I... Read more
Barefoot and Pregnant
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