Category: Hard Truth

1

Summer into Fall

Today is my boys’ first day of school. I didn’t realize I wouldn’t write this summer. I suppose that’s in part because summer is for lazy days. We made it to the beach a few times and found a favorite lake to walk around. But summer is for busy days too. I made it to England and then I survived staying home when Garreth made it to England. Liam ran a big race and met a...

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When Gratitude is Hard

Reposting because this is still one of my favorites. Also because we sang these same songs again at my concert last weekend and they felt redeemed…. ******* In response to all of the people who say, “I don’t know how you do it…” First, you could do it too. You’d rise to the occasion, just like I did. Second, you are doing it, whatever it is right now, whether it be crippling anxiety, a season...

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Don’t Call My Son Cute

Aidan is cute. He’s adorable, really. Those beautiful blue eyes make everyone stop and take notice. And he still has soft kissable cheeks. His size is misleading. I get that. He looks like a nine year old and nine year olds can be cute. But not teenagers. Aidan is 14 now, a tween, a teen? I’m not even sure anymore, but not a little boy. Let me make all kinds of rules and immediately break...

0

How Life is not a Toaster Oven

I get really annoyed when I have to replace my toaster oven. I end up with warm toast, or burnt toast, or toast toasted only on one side and I need to start over after about two years. Mostly I pay my $40 every couple of years and get over it. It should work longer but it doesn’t and it won’t break the bank to replace. If I can’t get to the store, I just...

1

Drip Drip Drop

Let’s go ahead and start the New Year with a super awkward conversation, ok? (Happy New Year, by the way) Let’s talk about drooling. I’m not a bodily functions kind of person. Liam has already puked at one track meet (it’s a runners’ thing apparently) and he knows if he does it again I will stage whisper in mock horror, “Where is that poor boy’s mother?” and then disappear out the back door. I know...

0

These Ordinary Moments

My oldest, this boy who made me a mother, was created very much in my image. The long, lean build, the oval face, and narrow hazel eyes. He’s my reader, the first child to sit on my lap for hours and look at picture books. As time went on we would take turns reading and finally snuggle side by side each lost in our own fictional world. Years of soaking in words gave my oldest...

18

Welcome Monkees

According to Glennon Doyle Melton of Momastery, Monkees are like monks, in that we put our faith in something beyond ourselves, we find value in quiet, and we practice living peacefully in community – here on the internet and beyond. We’re unlike monks in that we curse and watch trash tv and become annoyed quite easily. So we settled on Monkees.  I’m honored that my post, “Wishing Him Gone” is featured today on Glennon’s blog...

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Wishing Him Gone: My Messy Beautiful

Here’s my messy truth: soon after my son Aidan was born thirteen years ago I wished he would die. Aidan was born with complex medical needs and spent the first three months of his life in the neonatal ICU. When he came home on oxygen and with a g-tube, without a diagnosis, prognosis or any medical staff to reassure us, I just wanted him to die quickly. It’s such a horrid, shameful thought that I carried...

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It’s Not All Rainbows and Unicorns

Grab a cup of coffee. We’re digging in deep today. Before we start, please read this post from a mom who has a disability herself and has a child with a disability. Her writing sparked a few robust FaceBook conversations (you should totally friend me so you can be part of those), which is what passionate voices and bold writing should do because respectful conversations are a win-win. Meriah states that “Disability does not suck. The inaccessibility of...

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Bleeding Words

I wrote words on my walls because words matter, because the walls were coming down, because the words were more than words; they were my bleeding soul. I wrote words on my walls because I knew I would smash them down and somewhere in there I wanted those words to come alive, to be real; I wanted to destroy their truth and not just their letters. I wrote words on my walls because my soul...