cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
Who am I, and which part of me is real? It happens in the flick of a switch. The war within me between the “best version” and the “far-from-the-mark” mother. It doesn’t take much for this duality to be activated as pieces of my own story are stirred up. Both have a significant impact on…
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I remember helping my mom pack up my childhood home. I was twenty-four and pregnant with my first daughter. That feels important to mention, because the bending over to wrap things in paper and place them in the box was killing my back.
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Once upon a time it was not okay to say, “No, thank you.” Somewhere along the journey of life, my no was swallowed up by duty and obedience.
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The rain came in sheets, weighing down the leaves and rushing down the gutters of the house.
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