#becauseimthemombieFirst day home schoolingdue to less-than favoriteschool district_ (2).png


The Bleak House

how to take betterfamily vacationpicturesNo one told me selling a house would be so much fun.

The scraping wallpaper, the painting, the cursing the former owners for hanging the wallpaper. And also, the constant nagging question, “Why didn’t we make it how we wanted it while we were actually living in it?”

I’ve decided selling a house is a lot like waiting for the return of Christ. You just never know when the realtor’s going to knock on the door, or just open it, because isn’t it great that the keys are hanging in the lock box on the door knob?

A special thanks to my Tiny Human or strategically placing my (clean) underwear by the front door yesterday for such a visit.

It’s been such an exciting time, but now that the paint fumes have worn off, my brain is starting to work again–and it’s asking important questions such as (but not limited to) why am I not using this newspaper column to advertise my house?

(I’m on vacay, so this is a rerun from five years ago. I’m not selling a house. Actually, I am–if you’re interested–this one never did sell. Paying two mortgages is a lot of fun.)

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Untitled design (1).pngYou always wonder if it’s going to be enough. If you listened enough, paused enough, dropped down on your knees to look into her eyes enough. You wonder if when she went to sleep that night, she felt it:

Loved enough. Believed in enough.

“You are special.” I tell her this every day, because one day, sooner than I want to believe, someone will tell her she isn’t. And she will ask herself if it’s true. And the only answer she will have is what her heart tells her.

Today I wondered about Enough. It haunted me. There were deadlines, house showings, suitcases and plans and busyness. And there were two little eyes, peering at me–and one little mouth that has so often asked of late, Mom, “You ‘K?”

Not even two years old, and her heart is already wondering if I’m okay.

“That’s my job, Kiddo. Mommy gets to worry if you’re okay. Did you feel loved today?”

It’s a question her dad asks her every night–did you feel loved? She doesn’t know how to answer it yet, but someday she will. So for now, as we tuck her in with Bear securely by her side, we pray she knows…

She is enough. And we are trying our best to be the same..

Thanks to the Coffee Maker


I would like to thank my oldest for waking me at 5 a.m. so I could work on my proposals for this upcoming book conference. Also the coffeemaker for the sheer moment of terror when it malfunctioned because I’d plugged in the toaster oven instead.

Let me Dictaphone that


Emptying the storage unit and this is what we used in journalism college for interviews and also now the baby wipes are what I use for wiping toddler buttĀ before picking up my Dictaphone for writing books to store on my floppy drive.

#journalismmajorstillrunonsentences #imnotold

By the way: really exciting news coming soon (and it doesn’t involve me being pregnant because folks, because that ain’t happening).