My father is the broad-shouldered, strong, internal teddy bear type, with fingers like sausages. In my childhood, he was a Midwestern farmer. In his spare time, he donates his mad skills to car repairs of missionaries, single moms, people like that. He’s that kind of guy.
And it’s common for him to come back into the house with blood zigzagging down his leg or seeping through his shirt.read more
I know I wasn’t the only mom whose gut sunk like a stone when I heard of the death (“passing” seems a misnomer) of George Floyd. Just weeks after our family discussion about Ahmaud Arbery, we sat down in lieu of online church to talk again about racial discrimination.
Truth: Sometimes I wish I didn’t tell you I’d help with “uncomfortable conversations…worth having.”
But here’s another truth: Those of you readers of color probably didn’t have an option for this uncomfortable conversation with your kids.read more
My daughter’s headed to winter camp soon, which she adores. This morning, over an increasingly plain-looking Greek yogurt parfait, she gushed about camp’s breakfast buffet. She loves the free time, the reconnecting with old friends.
But in light of her anxiety issues, and apparently a night last year when she laid awake till 2, she’s already nervous about getting to sleep.
At dinner each night of November, see if your family can collectively think of 10 more things you’re thankful for. Keep a running list.
2. Turkey day decor.
A vase filled with your list written on slips of paper, or written scrawled on kraft paper doubling as a Thanksgiving tablecloth—complete with Sharpies or crayons prompting guests to add their own.
3. The classic: Thank you notes.
Set a small, doable goal for yourself to send out a certain number of thank-you notes to people who might be a little clueless as to just how much you appreciate them. You might also consider enclosing a small gift card (think Starbucks, Amazon, iTunes) to add an exclamation point to your gratitude.
Back in high school, I took a crazy-cool trip with an organization, performing evangelistic street theater as we camped through Europe. It was unforgettable.
But I’m sure it was no easy feat. Our team consisted of 90 teenagers (not a typo). Tents were lined up with military precision, and meals were planned down to the number of boxes of macaroni and the packets of oatmeal.
In a similar spirit, free time wasn’t called free time, but “O Time”: Organized time. As in, be intentional. Don’t fritter it away.read more
My thirteen-year-old and I sat across a sticky table from each other at the local donut shop. If I remember right, he had this maple-frosted thing that was the size of a small planet, totally at my permission (unusual for my Sugar Nazi tendencies). His tears had dried by now, leaving a whisper of salt on his cheeks.
“I just feel like I have more setbacks than wins,” he shrugged, so clearly in pain.read more
For one, after a year of doing my freelance writing and marketing for my only employment, I filed for my own business. I am now the owner of Fresh Ink, LLC. So that’s pretty cool.read more
A couple of weeks ago, my son and I attempted homemade ravioli. I say attempted not because they didn’t taste good. (They tasted great!) I say this because in the midst of chaos–some foreseen, some not-so-much–we didn’t really seal the little ravioli pillows correctly. So ricotta leaked out into the water. Never fear: Every single one of the little guys was still eaten up, and since perfect ravioli wasn’t the goal, I’d consider it a smashing (smashed?) success.
I’ve been pulling kids up on the counter next to me (and sometimes sitting them in the bowl of the sink) for a little over a decade now. Initially, it was a strategy of containment. If I am cooking, I know where you and your fast little feet are, and what those little hands are dumping. But cooking has been a way that my kids and I create rich quality time together.
Near the end of the day, we are creating something nourishing together, learning a life skill, chatting about whatever, laughing, and sealing the memories with taste and sound and sight and smell and touch. Somehow the mundane, to me, seems to take on a little magic.read more
Around his birthday last year, I mentioned to my husband the number of people who’d wished him a warm HBD on Facebook. My daughter, listening, asked if he’d received a lot of cards. “I used to get a lot. But people don’t do that much anymore,” he shrugged.
We’ve all got more than enough to do–and plenty of “shoulds”, right? I’m truly not wanting to add more. But I’ve found writing notes actually makes me…happier.read more