Most things I write about are little things. No, really, they are. I say that in plainspoken earnestness, not as a martyr or moper. They are important to me, my family, and a few others. They will never affect the outcomes of global events, nor will my little words influence ideological trends. I'm totally fine with that. I promise I am not trying to be dramatic or silly. I have little ambition for big things. But sometimes they happen anyway.
Sometimes, Big Things
July 28, 2015 • 2015, Colorado, craftsy, Denver, knitting, teaching, teaching knitting, travel
One of Those Weeks
July 20, 2015 • challenges, choosing optimism, daily photos, meditation, photography
Yay Monday because last week was one of those weeks. I know it's inevitable that it will happen, but this was a convergence to be sure. What the heck happened, you may ask? Here is the rundown:
4 am
July 15, 2015 • 2015, family, insomnia post, my red door days, photos, thinking out loud, travel, Utah
As a mother, there seem to be certain reflexes that haven't had long enough to slow in the scant year since my youngest left home.
When I heard someone stirring in the wee hours, I woke up immediately to full alertness. It wasn't a big noise, just steps and a door opening, and those sounds came through my closed door and covers over my head. I marvel that I yet have that ability to instantly be aware that something is not right and feel the need to investigate.
When I heard someone stirring in the wee hours, I woke up immediately to full alertness. It wasn't a big noise, just steps and a door opening, and those sounds came through my closed door and covers over my head. I marvel that I yet have that ability to instantly be aware that something is not right and feel the need to investigate.
Johnathan's Birth Story
July 13, 2015 • birth story, birthdays, c-sections, family, hospital stories, Johnathan
Every so often, I get the urge to tell one of my kids' birth stories. Today is Johnathan's turn. I scanned some photos of his Birth Day and became quite emotional looking at our younger selves, his and mine.
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