The Last Straw: a Tale of Summertime
They were rowdy, loud, and I hadn’t quite gotten enough sleep last night. The noises were grating on me: some kids shrieking (at least it was in happiness, or something close to it), another kid tapping the table with a spoon (a soundtrack rhythm of annoying...
The Women of My Life: a Short History
This weekend my husband and I sifted through fifteen years of papers and pictures we had stashed in boxes in our garage. We found college essays, old emails we’d sent to each other, and baby pictures of us that our parents had handed over years ago. In among the...
On Beauty: an Essay
Some days I know the truth, and some days it gets buried so far beneath those old lies I can hardly remember its echo. This morning I woke up feeling out of sorts. Not unexpected, since there is a baby who had trouble sleeping. Since there was a brain that just...
On Darkness: a Cautionary Tale
Around Christmas time one year, when my oldest son was four or so, someone asked him if he’d been good this year. It was an innocent question, a question people often ask children because it is, in the folklore of contemporary life, tied to the gifts that might be...
The Magic of the Everyday Interruptions: a Reflection
I was alone in my bedroom. It was Friday night, the time when my husband and I schedule our weekly at-home date night. He’ll pick up takeout and we’ll spread out a blanket on our bed and watch some Netflix while we eat. He was already on his way to pick up a chicken...
On Everyday Magic: a Philosophical Meandering
The world is breathtaking. The other day, my family and I were driving to church, and the clouds looked as though they were a rolling white and gray ocean, a collection of froth and waves, a layered landscape that begged my attention. My husband was driving, so I...
On Fathers: an Essay
We all gathered on the same two acres where my sister and brother and I grew up, though the house we lived in for seven years no longer sits on the land. Another marks its place instead: wider, longer, newer. Fajita meat smoked on the island in the middle of the...
On the Poetry of the Earth and Time that Does Not Last Forever
Every Wednesday night, my oldest son and I have what we call “Snuggle Time.” It’s a sweet time—about fifteen minutes—when he gets to have my undivided attention—which is a precious rarity in our home. The last two Snuggle Time sessions he’s wanted to go for a...
The Origin of Unkindness: A Short Life Story
I was stirring some oatmeal, having already ruined a pot with cayenne pepper when I mistakenly grabbed it instead of the cinnamon. I was still getting over the flu, and my brain wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders. And, because my brain felt foggy and unfocused...
On Trading Recordings for Memories: an Essay
It’s the last week of school, and I am a weeping mess. It’s not a sad weeping, really. It’s a bittersweet weeping, a proud weeping, because every step they take on this road that is education and growing up and moving on is another step they take out of my home. Those...