Naming The Wild Things

Ask a mom of littles what her day looks like, and she will probably laugh in your face. The day, in large part, is what it is. However, since entering the parenting trenches three-and-a-half years ago, I have begun to take hold of the unexpected practice of peacemaking through planning. What used to read “prison”…

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Returning To My Rested Self

You would think apple picking is about the smell, but it’s not. At first, it’s about the feel. The air is always colder than you think out in the orchards. Even with a stocking cap pulled down past my ears and a cozy green flannel zipped up to my neck, a shiver occasionally runs the…

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