I don’t often brag about my daughters, though my youngest disagrees. She told me I’m quick to tell everyone about…
I’m helping my mom organize her house. It’s been a long time coming, and with my husband’s retirement I feel…
My husband is officially retired. Or tired. However you view the life milestone when it’s time to quit working forever….
My youngest was a picky eater when she was young. I don’t give much credence to picky eaters. I never…
The last few weeks I’ve been working on a photo album for my youngest daughter of all the conventions she’s…
I feel as if my life is in constant flux and I honestly don’t know if it’s just my nature…
“Marco!” My youngest daughter was looking for me in our home, of all places. I was looking for her, so…
Back when my husband and I were single, which is what I fondly refer to the time after we were…
Kids in their teens and early twenties have not fully learned skills of compromise and patience; at least not with those whom they’re close to. I hear all the time from my daughters how we should tolerate people’s differences in this day of too many identity options. But when it comes to their siblings, the rules don’t necessarily apply. We parents give our children sisters and brothers, so they can learn patience and kindness, or the best way to smack that sibling up side the head without mom catching them.
You can tell what my main focus has been these past few weeks because I’ve only written about my yard and rocks. I think it’s my way of sticking my fingers in my ears and yelling “yayayayayayaya” to try and forget my youngest daughter is graduating high school in a month.
Apparently I’m the only neighbor who doesn’t have a pile of rocks in my yard. This is an old neighborhood, established in the sixties when they built things the old fashion way.
Last week I cleaned out the far corner of my backyard. My husband had thrown some old roofing out there in an attempt to kill the Japanese Knotweed. It’s a noxious weed that creeps in under the guise of bamboo.
I reserved the family room for my husband last weekend so he could watch the Daytona 500 in the comfort of his own home, on his own couch. Yes, you read it right – I reserved it. Reserving the family room is a bigger deal than it should be for the patriarch of the household.
Just a couple weeks ago I talked about how I like my stuff arranged in certain configurations; kitchen items, towels, community-use types of things. I often struggle to get my family to comply, but with five of us living here, my efforts are usually met with a lackadaisical attitude.
I’ve decided to make New Year’s goals instead of resolutions. I’ve never really believed in resolutions at the New Year, because I don’t enjoy setting myself up for failure. Why is it we believe that just because the calendar changed, we will too?
My youngest daughter was observing our Christmas tree the other day and divulged that when she was little she had always wanted one of those perfect, elaborate trees – flocked with a theme of ornaments or colors. She wanted a tree that really screamed Christmas.
I woke up feeling anxious today. I wasn’t sure if it was over something I was dreaming about, the fact I hadn’t written a column yet, or if it was just reality setting in.
The problem with a beautiful fall day, like it was on Sunday, is one is compelled to work outside. I just wasn’t feeling like doing garden work, but I suddenly had the urge to rebuild my campfire pit.
This phenomenon became very clear to when my oldest was around three-years old. She just wouldn’t listen. I chalked it up to her age. What toddler listens? Then I put her in preschool
There it waits; mouth wide open begging to be filled like a baby bird needing nourishment. But they ignore its pleas and take care of their own needs while it stays empty, waiting for someone to notice.
