A Tale of Two Birthdays
Before you begin to think more highly of me than you ought, I really am not that person. You know that person. The one whose house is impeccable, whose kids are dressed in pristine white clothing, and whose homegrown, homecooked family dinners are served at 6pm sharp and hit all the major food groups (her farm to her table).
The Only Bunt We Want is Cake
It’s July in Texas. The temperature is over 100 degrees by 10am. And we signed our children up for Saturday summer t-ball, because we hate ourselves.
The Clavicle that Broke Summer
A few years ago, Taylor and I went on The Week-Long Beach Vacation from Hell. (That’s not fair, actually. The first day was great, so really it was The Six-Day Beach Vacation From Hell.) I reference this trip often because it was, like, so bad. Least of all colossal fails was 8 month old Davis breaking his collarbone back at home. I found out over a spotty FaceTime connection, only catching every other word. “took a fall….maybe broken….x-rays….urgent care” You might think this is a once-in-a-childhood event, breaking a collarbone while your parents are far, far away. I’m sure for normal families it is, but we typically don’t do normal.
If You Give a Sarah a Massage Chair…
A few weeks ago, I was visiting a friend out of town. We had a sleepover at her parents’ house; partly because they were away on vacation, mostly because we’re both moms of young boys who love the rare luxury of sleeping and eating and toileting in peaceful solitude. Of all the rooms in her parents’ house, she sold me on the one with the massage chair. “Remember that time you were mildly violated by a pedicure massage chair?” she asked.
I am their Best Mom
Mother’s Day is around the corner, so I’m feeling introspective. As my precious cherubs take their afternoon nap, I find myself reflecting on our morning together. It’s wonderful that they are tucked safely in their beds getting rest; I almost killed them a few hours ago. They argue-screamed the entire way to the doctor this morning while I was snorting Stress Away oils and consuming coffee intravenously. “He’s looking out my window!” “No – HE’S looking out MY window!” “That’s MY window because THAT’S HOW JESUS MADE IT and he DOESN’T WANT YOU LOOKING OUT ITTTTTTTT!!!!!!” And on and on and on.
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Dear Sons, She Doesn’t Mean You.
Her Name is Faith.
Parents: A Word about Sexting
If I had a chance to finish the book draft I began writing about social media before it flew off the hood of my car never to be seen again, I probably would have made the tagline something like, “It’s not an app problem, it’s a heart problem.”
Growing Tattoos
The invitation to appear on Ellen should be coming any day now. We’ll walk on set, greeted by Isaiah Mustafa and all of the Old Spice team. Ellen, Isaiah, and the man holding a giant cardboard check will gift us with a lifetime supply of deodorant and a $50,000 college scholarship for our gifted 4 year old. Let me start from the beginning.
The Best Easter Object Lesson Ever
Every year, my mom wants to buy our boys new Easter outfits. Also every year, my mom forgets to buy our boys new Easter outfits. She doesn’t forget entirely, she just forgets until close enough to the date that either she has to pay exorbitant shipping charges to get everything here on time or she takes her chances with USPS and hopes they arrive earlier than later. Last year the package arrived the Monday after Easter. These fails have become some our favorite memories.
Living with Our Glimpses
It was Crazy Sock day at school yesterday, a celebration of World Down Syndrome Day. My boy’s kinder class celebrated their friend and all the other friends around the globe who are extra amazing with their extra chromosome. Watching him walk out the door with tiny capes fluttering on the back of his Batman socks was LIFE. I mean, who doesn’t love a good sock cape? More than that, though, was the knowledge that those socks were walking into a school that is celebrating people. And I will always get on board with that.
Learning to Breathe
Can you hear that? It’s the sound of a silent house. All my kids are at school or preschool right now, and I have 5 solid hours of pure, uninterrupted, blissful, solitary laziness for the first time in almost 7 years. I’m sure when my kids are grown and my house is always silent I will miss the noise. But today? I am savoring every tick of the clock I didn’t even know made audible noise until this moment.
