I have a little helper sitting next to me. It's the big kids' homework time, so he and I are doing our "work" upstairs on his bed, pressed up against his window, a gray sky our backdrop. He's tracing lines on the LeapPad, working on his writing, practicing how to hold a pen.
Read moreCamogie Camp, a restropective
DAY 1
I watch for her, sweaty children in masks making their way from the clubhouse. Her pink backpack precedes her and I wait, anxious: Did she make it ok? Sid she stay dry? Did she love it? As she turns, her frown confirms my worst fears.
Slowly, she makes her way towards me, her arm juts out, middle finger upturned in my face.
Read moreWe are all so beautiful
I've mentioned this before, how she sends us pictures.
We come home to a small white envelope, a letter detailing her parade outing (she was the grand marshall), the weather report (hot and dry), and pictures from my childhood. I cringe at the bangs, the perm bordering on child cruelty, my penchant for hats.
I think, no wonder she's sending these to me. Who would want to remember those dangling bow earrings?
Read morePowdered creamer communion
I wake up in a bed without children, for the first time in ages. It's so unfamiliar to me I can't even place where I am, which bed I woke up in, what country we live in. The sun is up, but that's meaningless. What feels like 10am could be 5am, as the littlest ones know full well. Today it is 8am and the house is still asleep.
Two years ago this time we awoke to a Carolina beach. The parents asked for liquid coffee creamer, but all I could find in the extremely busy and equally limited town grocer was the powder stuff. I was given a slight disapproving eye, but we all used it anyway. Powder our coffee in the morning, sit on the balcony, and watch the hazy sun rise over the Atlantic. It was beautiful, and tasty, and all we had was time. No phones, no appointments, no clocks. Just time.
It's a minor injustice that I can't find liquid creamer anywhere on our current stretch of island. Yes, it speaks to our coffee addiction that milk just doesn't cut it and making the homemade Pinterest creamer wears one out eventually. I told him to leave and not come back without the powder stuff. I just need something, I said.
I'm done with milk in my coffee, it offers no memories.
Two-heaping teaspoons and I remember North Carolina. The powder on the rim of the mug. The way we woke before the children, how they waddled in all blurry. The smell of the ocean and the silence of happily exhausted humans, sitting side by side. We barely talk, breathing in together. Communion.
I remember you this morning, my family. Asher as a baby. Ella in a nightgown. Jack reading his book on whales. Walking on sand with my dad. Drinks with my sisters. Cousins holding hands.
My mug is filled with memories. My morning free from time.
I remember you.
The lazy mom's guide to summer
Ok, I've got 10 days to prepare myself mentally, emotionally and physically for my kiddos to be home 24/7. I love spending time with my kids, but both they and I need space. Frequent space. So we like to keep summer low-key, low-maintenance, and low-energy. Some people call this lazy. Fair enough. I, for one, will choose to embrace the laziness of summer and lean into my lazy giftings.
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