Saturday Morning

Outside the mourning doves are cooing. Inside the house, my daughter is declaring the toast to be too toasty (and her highness is requesting less-toasty toast please!). There is a low whine in the background — the sound of a broken toilet that won’t stop running and that my mediocre plumbing skills are not capableContinue reading “Saturday Morning”

‘His name is Bob’ and other thoughts from the three-year old.

All I can do is stay present to what she is right now. To her lip with dried yogurt, her feet in my way-too-large shoes, and her little whispers to me about Bob, the Honey Nut Cheerios bee.


Full throttle. That is how the day starts with my daughter. This was the first five minutes of our day: “MAAAAHHHHH-MEEEE!” Arrive at her room where she is tucked behind the shade, looking out her window. “Daddy there is a bug! Daddy take the bug away!” (Daddy is the bug-taker-away-person.) Daddy takes the tiny ant away. “Mommy whyContinue reading “FULL THROTTLE”

How I learned to embrace 6AM and write in stolen time

My grandfather Karl woke up every day at 5:30 am. Voluntarily. I am not normally a Karl. Not by a long shot. I’m more of a watch-Gilmore Girls-Reruns-until-1am kind of gal. That is, until recently. My toddler wakes up early. Like 6am early. I used to dread these mornings. I would barter with my husband inContinue reading “How I learned to embrace 6AM and write in stolen time”