I remember a dad handing me flowers after a school play, driving me to a speech tournament at the crack of dawn on a Saturday, cheering from the sidelines, and crying at both my graduation and my shotgun wedding. My Alzheimer's-plagued dad remembers that he's supposed to remember me, but he doesn't know my name. … Continue reading Fathers.


My children are plotting at the breakfast table. From the bedroom where I'm getting dressed, I listen to their scheme to write, illustrate, and sell books to make enough money to hire a butler. Yes, hire a butler. I overhear Rhys (because she's louder than everyone else, always) trying to convince my husband that having … Continue reading Plotting.

No-buy Christmas rule #3: Have super mature, kickass children.

Admittedly, this one might have taken some advance planning (i.e., trying to instill thoughtfulness in my kids since the day they each arrived in my life) and some "nature" that has nothing to do with what I like to tout as my super awesome parenting skills. I haven't fully explained the no-buy concept behind our … Continue reading No-buy Christmas rule #3: Have super mature, kickass children.

A no-buy Christmas.

I love Christmas. Every year, as we binge on leftover stuffing and pie, I start to get excited, complete with unstoppable grins and the I-can't-sleep jitters. The smells and the lights and the gatherings and the secrets---there's magic in the holidays. I was raised in an incredibly Catholic family. I attended 12 years of Catholic … Continue reading A no-buy Christmas.

“I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.”

(As one is wont to do when one begins working at 5am.) One: Summer will come, and with it, green and life and sunshine and warmth. Two: I work from home, every single moment of every single day. Three: I am married to The Greatest Man Alive. Four: I currently have six kids. Three of … Continue reading “I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.”