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Hands of Time

Posted on September 27, 2013

The girls were playing outside after an intense 45 minutes running their spelling, working through their math, and gleefully reciting poetry. I should say that it was intense for me, juggling their desire to each be my main focus and the reality that when it comes to NY Common Core 4th Grade math assignments, I cannot multitask. Snacked up and amped up, they’d bolted outside before I said there was more studying to be done. Watching out the window I couldn’t help but think how choppy these passages are for me. Just when I feel as if I’ve mastered the rhythm of something, I look up and it’s as if the music has changed, my body swaying to a ballad as the sounds of…

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Yes, you.

Posted on September 12, 2013

Believing in your dreams is not reserved for kids, in fact one of the greatest things we can do for our kids is show that dreaming lasts forever. Are yours gathering dust? Special thanks to: Alexandra, for making my head swing at handwriting, which takes me back to my childhood when my mom did the lettering for calligraphy books in Eugene, Oregon. Aidan, who so generously shares her pursuit of dreams and happiness. Old Navy, for having this flippy, fun shirt that has reminded me to dream in the most impossibly soft and comfortable way!

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Posted on September 11, 2013

Twelve years ago at this time we were just waking up. An hour from now we’d be in the car on the way to the realtor’s office off Commonwealth Avenue. We were going to sign the lease on our first place together. Twelve years ago there were no wedding rings, no babies, no company. We were just two twentysomethings, in love and ready for the next step. The sky was impossibly blue. I had just flown back from California the day before.  My plane for Seattle was leaving Logan at a little after 9am, one more trip to visit my family before my new job started. After we signed the lease we walked out of the office, the plan was for me to take…

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It all started when-

Posted on September 3, 2013

A few weeks ago we took Beso, our cocker spaniel, to a place to be boarded while we were on the Cape. The drop-off was not dissimilar to the scene in Hope Floats when the little girl stands sobbing in the street as her dad drives away. The week that we were away I struggled with the echo of Briar murmuring, “Mom, it’s like we are leaving him to be adopted. Does he know we’ll be back?” I shushed her in the moment, but as the days passed I found myself whispering, “I hope so, baby. I hope he knows.” When we went to pick him up we looked cautiously for the pig who had startled us our first time. Beso, it turns out,…

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