Sunday, July 9, 2017

Now They Will Have Peace!

I distinctly remember a time I overheard Lilly playing with her dolls.


She was a sweet and saucy three-year-old who had just discovered the wonders of her imagination and "pretend play." I was wiping down kitchen counters--remnants of spilled breakfast cereal left to petrify on the formica unless I acted fast--while she played in the adjacent living room. I could hear her tiny voice playing the parts of both the mommy doll and the daddy doll, which she clutched in her hands:

Wednesday, June 28, 2017

Playing Dead

Initially, we thought signing Bridget up for soccer was a good idea.


And why wouldn't we think that?! She is rambunctious and fearless. She has the hyperactivity of a caffeinated border collie. She adores playing outside in the sunshine. We figured she would love running up and down a green, grassy field, kicking a soccer ball with a small "herd" of other three-year-olds!

Friday, April 28, 2017

Growing Up Is Hard To Do

My daughter, Lilly, is growing up.


And quite frankly, it's killing me!

I mean, I knew it was inevitable...right? The natural progression of life tells us that aging happens--day by day, year by year; there is no stopping it. I see the telltale signs of it in the little lines on my face and in my neck. I feel the telltale signs of it when I think I'm young enough to stay up for a midnight movie, and then fall asleep halfway through! It stinks.

Thursday, April 13, 2017

Receiving Compassion

Usually, when I sit down to write--fingertips hovering over white alphabet keys, computer screen softly glowing in my eyes--I have a carefully thought-out idea as to what my post will be. It has a beginning, a middle, a lesson or a funny anecdote, an ending.


Today is a little different in that I have so many thoughts bumping around in my head, but with so little structure and order. It is as though my heart is swelling within my chest, my friends, making it difficult to take deep breaths. My feelings of total and sincere gratitude are filling up all the achy cracks in my weary mama's body, and if I don't sit down and just write...I. Might. Burst.

Thursday, March 2, 2017

What Can We Learn? (A Tale of Waxing and Autism)

Fact: I have the best conversations in the most unusual places.


Like that time I went to see my gynecologist for my annual checkup. I was sitting on the exam table in that poor excuse for a hospital gown (they call it a drape when they should call it a napkin) and that awful paper sheet (that barely covers your bits), when my doctor came rushing into the room in a fluster and a flurry. She preceded to tell me that the reason why she was running late to see her patients was NOT because she had to deliver a baby, but rather because she had to take a call from her son's elementary school. Apparently, her husband had packed their son's school lunch. And what he thought was a granola bar was actually a "brick" of bird seed. For a bird feeder. The school wanted to know if little "Johnny" was, in fact, supposed to be eating bird seed for lunch.