cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
I have always viewed each passing season in my life as chapters in my ever changing, ever growing “Book of Me.” Each chapter tells stories of joy, pain, loss, curiosity and progress. Some of these chapters are filled with angst and ennui, some chapters are full of new found passions, others speak of various heartbreak…
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*Editorial note: This essay includes a story of pregnancy and loss tied to violence. The question of where I belong calls me first to my middle and high school days…such a wild time of life. I have three middle schoolers who tell me stories of belonging and stories of not belonging. However, sitting in the…
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There is a magical hour, when darkness lingers and daylight is yet an illusion. It is in this hour of endless night when babies like to be born.
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We’ll always share the same birthday, right?
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Recently I had the chance to sit with a new mom, offering to hold her baby as she juggled her dinner, a diaper bag, a burp cloth and the stroller.
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“Just relax through the contractions”, “Relax and take it easy until the baby comes”,
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I was thirty-four years old when I began trying to figure out how to have “the talk” with my oldest daughter, who was turning ten that year.
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