“Hold on, Mom,” she says, dismounting from her pink bicycle again. She crouches down, her face inches from the ground. “This is important,” she tells me. We’re on one of our walks through the neighborhood, and already we’ve paused like this many times.Read More
Charlie has wondered over to where I sit on the porch with a handful of feverfew flowers. "Can we make tea from these, Mom?" she asks. Now that's she's four, she doesn't forget what I tell her, and she's curious about everything in the garden. That's why she knows and remembers what I told her about making tea with feverfew leaves, and she wants me to do it with her.Read More
I was hugely pregnant with my second child in August 2016, and two and a half hours in the car sounded like the opposite of fun. But the weekend promised at the end of the trip was enough to make me tumble my swollen body into Haley's car and drive the 92 miles from Boise to McCall, Idaho. It was time for our first writing retreat.Read More
The mirror tells me what I already know: my standing half split looks completely different from everyone else’s. I look a little like I dropped my keys and am franticly searching for them while my left leg awkwardly juts out behind me. The woman to my left in a black Lululemon bra and impossibly tiny shorts looks like—well, like a yogi doing a standing half split: graceful, balanced, lithe. Somehow the sweat from the 105-degree room makes her look even more athletic and graceful. It’s making me look like a drowned rat.Read More
My list is up to three reasons: side ache, big toenail on the right side is too long, and I didn't sleep well last night.
They're the reasons I'm collecting as the miles tick by too slowly on my morning run—reasons I should call it a day. The double stroller feels heavier with every footfall, and my ambitions are looking less enticing. If I stop I can sit down, just there under that tree or by that bench, let my heart rate come down, drink some water.
Reason number four: I'm thirsty.Read More