“Why is that flag only halfway up?” I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw my seven-year-old son tapping on the glass and pointing at a flag pole outside the retirement community near our house. “That’s called ‘half-staff,’” I said. “They do that when something sad has happened.” He stayed quiet for a few beats, leaving me thinking that maybe
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I made a decision just a few short days after becoming a mother that I would never judge another parent. I felt like I was thrown face first into parenting. One minute I was sitting in a dunk tank watching and waiting for someone to throw the ball, but instead someone came from behind and pushed me in. Parenthood was
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It’s been awhile since I’ve written anything for this blog myself! Pregnancy affects us all in different ways, and I have spent the last year or so in my protective little bubble–growing, birthing, and loving on our sweet Caroline. She’s officially four months old, and we’ve survived the fourth trimester! I’m sure with three kids and a business things will
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Once upon a time–eight years ago, if you’re counting–I was a glowing fairy princess. At least that’s what it seems like when I look at old pictures. Such smooth skin. Such bright eyes. Such a defined jaw. Back then, in addition to being in my 20s, I wasn’t a mother. Sleep was bountiful, stress and worry were minimal, and I
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Since last spring, we’ve been on quite the KonMari kick in our household. Well, to be more accurate, my husband has been on quite the KonMari kick, and when he’s on a kick, it’s best to just go with it. For those of you not familiar with KonMari, it’s shorthand for a method of decluttering–and then organizing–your belongings, as described
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A week ago Saturday, my husband, son, and I came home to something no family ever wants to see: The window to our backdoor smashed in. Couch cushions tossed around the living room. Bags dumped out on the floor. Every cabinet, drawer, and closet open and ransacked. While we were at a baseball game that evening, someone–three someones, we came
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I’ll never forget the first time I got a truly negative, punch-in-the-gut comment on a parenting article I wrote. “I feel really sorry for your son.” Other writers who share their parenting experiences online have gotten much worse than that, but…dang. The internet can be a rough place for parents. That constant influx of information and opinions (and, with those,
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This past weekend I had the privilege of attending a co-ed, kid-friendly party to celebrate the impending arrival of a dear friend’s baby girl. There were biscuits, some booze (for the non-pregnant, non-underage attendees), and not an awkward shower game in sight. It was great. As I wrangled my family when it came time to leave, my friend thanked me
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I pulled the fitting room curtain shut and removed my dress from the plastic covering it’d been hiding under for the last few months, waiting to be altered. I was six months post-partum and just weeks away from serving as a bridesmaid in the wedding of two dear friends—the first “real” event I’d be going to after having our son.
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I’ve had a heavy heart the last few days. I’m really, really missing my baby. You see, somehow my baby has turned into a kid. I’m sure it was a gradual change, but it’s hit me very suddenly. It feels like I put him to bed one night as a chubby, babbling toddler, and he woke up the next morning
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