cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
We sit quietly in the near-dark room. Wood spindles hug hips and back, bare feet touch soft fawn-colored carpet, worn wooden armrests cradle elbows and arms filled with the weight and warmth of her. Feet push gently against the soft carpet, silence broken by the creaking voice of the old rocking chair. Voice speaking from…
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The spring before I found out I was pregnant with my first child I was at a craft fair with my best friends. I came across a booth that was selling baby girls clothing. There was this lace dress. It was frilly and girly and perfect. I bought it. I wasn’t pregnant yet. We weren’t…
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I see you hovering at the base of the big slide, ready to catch your little daredevil as he proudly descends the last of the challenges this big kid playground has presented. And I am aware of your young mama heart, a little sad that he’s already conquering these obstacles.
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Tread water, get pulled under, push to surface, gasp for air, tread water, get pulled under, push to surface, gasp for air. Slowly drowning has become my way of life. There is a rhythm to it, one that is familiar. A pattern that should probably feel scary or dangerous instead feels like home. So even…
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2007 was the year I began to write. I wrote to name things I had carried around inside for too long without voice being given to them. I wrote to tell myself my own story. It was also the year my oldest daughter graduated from high school and my youngest daughter turned one. I felt…
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In the wilds of motherhood, professional work, and various other creative endeavors, as an Indigenous/Mexican/Spanish/German woman, I find the spaces shrinking in which I feel intuitively understood. In the ongoing pandemic integration into real-life realities, paired with friction-filled sociopolitical conversations and an ever-emerging mental health crisis, I often “turtle,” or go inward. A few weeks…
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I thought it would be more glamorous, ruling my little kingdom. Perhaps because my mother made it look pretty effortless…or at least manageable. But the truth is, it’s not manageable on so many days. Every day I wake up, and I try and fail and go to sleep and do it again. I’ve read all…
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Some hunt to kill; some to survive and protect. Shards of piercing words flew across the room at her. There was no point in running. She had been captured, and the gunfire from his vocal cords was incessant. Standing, she took the blows, her body numbing with the painful sensation of a thousand paper cuts…
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Errreeeeooooo-errreeeeooooo-errreeeeoooooo-errreeeeooooo. I looked down after sitting attached to the human milking machine (if you know, you know) for 35 minutes only to see 1 ounce total compiled by my milk machines. After so much of my time and life connected to that damn pump, I was so over it.
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At five foot two, he reaches his arms up to hug me. My arms underneath his squeeze tightly as I breathe him in. He is both familiar and mysterious. Stepping back, I stand still as he studies my face. “Mom, my armpits stink,” he says. “Oh, I’m sure they don’t buddy. Let me smell,” I…
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