It seems every time a new year rolls around, I find myself regretting the fact that I haven’t kept up with my blog; and, I promise myself that I will try to do a better job of it in the next year.

So here we go again. 2017 and the same thought tickles my brain.

Sitting, feverish, hacking up a lung the way my two girls have in the past week and listening to them argue, mostly healthy again, with each other in the basement. I have no voice left; no strength to go down and separate them or try to help find resolution. And so I take the opportunity to sit and try to compose some sort of blog post.

My thoughts run the gamut, but I have no clear-cut topic to analyze or discuss. The only thing I know is that it’s time to take writing a little more seriously.


We are growing a garden this year!  A vegetable garden!!!!!  I am beyond excited.  We have, for the last three or four years, grown tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers and herbs in faux terra-cotta pots on our patio.  We have also been members of a local CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) for several years (I have lost count on how long we have been doing this).  My dream, however, has been to have our OWN garden, where we can grow a host of different vegetables to support a healthier diet and greater self-sufficiency.  Unfortunately, that would require a much larger backyard.  Ours is about the size of a postage stamp.

But, alas, we are not moving anywhere anytime soon.  Our children are so very attached to this residence that our younger daughter would like to “buy this house as a vacation home” when it is time for us to sell and move to single-floor living (when our joints are crackly and dusty and fail to move us up the stairs).  How about that.  The townhouse we were only going to spend “two or three years” in has become an heirloom.  Who would have thought.  NOT ME.  EVER.  I have been planning our “next house” since the day we moved in!!

Anyway, my adorable and adoring husband promised (of his own accord; without my begging and pleading) to build me a raised bed for growing our own vegetables.  And he fulfilled this promise.  Several weeks ago, he built this fabulous raised bed that just fits in the area we have reserved for patio gardening.  It truly is beautiful.  So beautiful, in fact, that he has asked me many times, “Are you SURE you want to put dirt in this thing?”  My answer, of course, is always a resounding “yes”.  It is finally full of a robust mixture of organic soil, organic compost, a bit of vermiculite and a bit of organic manure. Our seedlings are finally planted and we have prepped the trellises  for the young sugar snap pea plants. I am very excited to see what our beautiful garden will yield. I hope, although I don’t expect, that it will be enough to can and put away some of this fresh produce for the colder months, much like Ma Ingalls once did. To be honest, the girls are almost as excited about this prospect as I am. We are homestead wannabees in our little townhouse. And we cannot wait to see what our hard work produces.

This is the coldest winter I can remember.  Ever.  In all of my nearly 41 years.  But we are on the “light” side of the Solstice.  It has come and gone and our days continue to grow lighter and longer.  And the sun through our windows feels a bit warmer.  Just a bit.  Even so, the wind seems to find its way through any crack or crevice around every window and door. To warm these coldest of winter days, I find myself baking crusty loaves of bread, boiling water for tea, heating milk for hot cocoa, knitting leftovers into cowls and hats, and doubling up on our layers of socks and sweaters.  The greatest warmth I have found, however, is the warmth of this family of mine.  Much as I know it would do us all good to run around outside, it has felt comfortable and cozy to be tucked into our home together, not venturing out into the frigid, frozen land that is just outside our windows. Written January 28, 2014

I love snow days.  Outdoors and indoors.

Indoors, the quiet play of my girls, background music by Taylor Swift and remnants of a cozy breakfast…..warm cinnamon rolls and hot chocolate…on the table.  They are homebodies, my girls.  To them (and to me), a snow day is a gift.  A day they can stay under the toasty covers a few more minutes and wake at their own pace.  A day Mom isn’t rushing them through breakfast and tooth-brushing to make it to school before the bell rings.  A day they don’t have to worry about doing or saying the right thing in class.

I watch the outdoors from the kitchen table as I write.  Wind-whipped snowflakes rush to blanket the grass, while a pair of juncos and a house sparrow take turns at the birdfeeder.  Much to our kitty’s chagrin, I don’t think we’ll see too many more, as the winds continue to pick up.

Soon it will be time to start clearing the driveway and sidewalks, a task I don’t mind in the hush of snowfall, interrupted only by the simple scrapes of my shovel.  Once the jarring sound of snowblowers breaks that silence, it becomes a chore.

I am grateful for another day.  One that happens to be a snow day.

Over the years, my husband and I have found that both of us and both of our children find great serenity while immersed in nature.  It is the thing that centers us and renews us.  And, to that end, we decided that it is of greatest importance that we spend some time in nature every weekend.  The daily stresses and sensory overload that we encounter during the school/work week dissolve as we step into nature.

Last weekend, we used our nature escape to say goodbye to summer and to welcome autumn. It was a very warm day for the end of September, but the breeze was delicious and the morning sun was beautiful filtering through the treetops.


Our plan was to hike all morning and stop at 10:49am to say goodbye to summer and to welcome autumn.  This wasn’t my idea.  This wasn’t my husband’s idea.  The two kids.  It was all them.

But as we hiked, we encountered some very cool wildlife and sights.  The first was an eastern box turtle, quickly identified by my fabulous husband.  He loves all things reptilian.


When we stopped hiking at 10:47am to say goodbye to summer, we were in a dried creek bed, exploring what might be found in such a spot.  Here we came upon a little frog.  If you look closely at the back end of the frog (is it a pickerel frog?), there is a small orange-red protrusion.  We assumed it was an egg sac, but as we were unsure, please feel free to comment the correct answer, if you know!  WE would love to know.  Another amazing hiking find.

At this moment, our children each took a turn saying a tearful goodbye to summer, one blowing a kiss and one giving an air-hug.  It’s always said that we can learn so much from our children.  Living in the moment is one of the greatest of these lessons.  And there it was again as they cheered a welcome to fall.

And we continued on our hike.  My favorite nature find that day, although kind of gross, was this owl pellet.  For anyone who doesn’t already know, when an owl eats, it digests what it can of the creature it has eaten and then throws up the bones, fur and whatever else it cannot digest.  These are known as owl pellets.  We had never discovered one on our own, so this was pretty exciting for us!


It was an amazing day.  One I won’t soon forget.  We hiked for TWO HOURS with a nine-year old and a six-year old!!  I witnessed my children’s intense sentimentality, and we all came away from it centered, contented and ready to face the week.  What an amazing escape.


For the first time in my life-as-a-mom, I am caught up on our laundry.  If that doesn’t say much, I have a nine year-old and a six year-old.  So that’s nearly ten years that I have been behind on laundry.  Yes, TEN YEARS!  I can’t believe I’m publicly admitting this.  I wish that I could count on one hand the number of times I’ve heard one of the following:

“Honey, do you have clean socks for me somewhere?”  And by “somewhere” he really meant “is there a laundry basket in this house with CLEAN laundry in it?”


“Mom, I’m out of pajamas.  Do you have some for me?”


“I’m all out of clean undershirts.”

Unfortunately, this probably happened once a week.  Fortunately, for every occasion I heard this, there was always a load in the washer or dryer that contained whatever it was they were looking for and I was able to hand them something clean and dry.

But for me being caught up on laundry doesn’t mean that our hampers are completely empty.  What it does mean is that no one is out of anything and the hampers are not over-flowing.  Not only are they not over-flowing, but they are less than half-full!  Clean laundry is folded and put away, not sitting in a basket somewhere waiting for me to plop on the floor and spend quality time folding it.

The thing is, it feels amazing.  Liberating.  Who knew being caught up on laundry could be so fulfilling?  I mean, right?  I get up at 5:00am and throw my first load in.  If there is a load from the night before in the dryer, I fold it then and there.  After I drop the kids at school, I throw in another.  And if it’s necessary, I toss one in after dinner.  The past few nights, it hasn’t been necessary.  I have been able to sit on the sofa with my love after the kids are in bed and enjoy an evening without that nagging feeling of “I must get some laundry in”.

Here we are.  Summer is over and school has begun.

But I am not happy about it.  Sure, the cooler weather is refreshing and I love those crisply blue autumn skies that greet us most days.  And who can’t deny the joy of crunching toasty brown leaves beneath her feet?  You would think I’d be ecstatic.

The truth of the matter is that I’m devastated.  We sent our youngest daughter to kindergarten this year.  Yes, I know it’s “only a half-day” and I hear those who echo “think of all you’ll get done”.  But all of that is irrelevant to me.  This is the year that begins the hurtling through childhood.  Because, one day my house will be spotless.  Everything done in a timely manner.  But those relaxed, laid-back days of early childhood are saying goodbye, never to return.  Those days of picking up and heading to a playground at our leisure…gone.  Or picking strawberries or apples mid-week to avoid the weekend rush…gone.  Upon us are the days of rushing here and there….to school to drop off….to school to pick up….to ballet….to the dentist.  And I hate that.

But the one thing of it all is that I am grateful that I stayed home with both of my children through this early part of their childhood.  Grateful that I didn’t miss all of their firsts.  Grateful that mine were the arms that picked them up when they fell and hugged them tightly.  Grateful that I was the one who sat with them to enjoy breakfast and lunch.  Grateful that my husband and I have always shared the same vision of our children growing up with a parent at home.  Grateful to that same amazing husband who made it happen.  It was a tough road for many years but well worth the struggles.

And so as we send our daughters off to the same school for the first time ever, my heart alternatively aches and soars.  Aches for the end of one era and soars for the littlest, as she finds her way to the next.