They met on the playground. He liked her shiny brown hair and the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled. She liked how smart he was and how he made her laugh. The more they played together, the more they learned how similar they were. They liked to sit in the sun and read good books. They liked to walk through the forest holding hands. They liked to sit under a tree and eat strawberries and crackers spread with peanut butter.
In the beginning, the boy told the girl lots of things about himself. He told her things he’d never told anyone else. The more he told her, the more she liked him. He was easy to be around. He made her feel comfortable. He made her feel like she could be who she was, and he would still like her.
The more he talked, the more she wanted to know. Learning about him was like reading a good book. The more she read, the more she could hardly wait to get to the end. But as she got closer to the last few chapters, something kept preventing her from reading the final pages. Someone kept interrupting her. Someone would not let her keep reading.
That someone was the boy.
The more the girl tried to read, the less he wanted her to read. Continue reading →
I sat in the lobby of the old hospital building when my kids were in their last counseling session. The session was over two hours long. I sat and waited. I should have gotten groceries. I should have run to the bank. I could have done a lot of things. Will was concerned that Mark might take them ‘somewhere’ after the session. To offer Will some comfort, I promised that I’d be sitting there when the kids got out of the session.
I thought about posting the most damning quotes from the emails received from Mark in the last few days. I thought I might even write about how Mark is telling Will that while every boy needs a mom, they don’t need a mom who poisons them with the hate they feel for that boy’s dad. I thought I’d even post entire copies of those emails. (Trust me. They far exceed the 1000 word limit that a lot of bloggers prefer.) I thought of posting his criticisms and defending myself. His writings further prove his disorder, so it certainly would be more fodder for this blog.
This photo reminds me of all the fun that was had around our house this week. Those drops of water are getting ready to slide down the tulip leaf. You can almost hear the drops saying, “Wheeeee!”
I’m lousy at identifying trees. My neighbor has a ginormous – Maple? Green Ash? – tree in his front yard that creates the loveliest umbrella over our driveway. On a hot summer day (please let us have a few this year) there isn’t a better place to stand than on the shady cool cement of the driveway, with a dripping popsicle, under the dense lacy shade of that tree.
I did it. Saturday night I 
Yesterday’s post was about beauty and insecurity and denying who I am. It was a difficult post to write. I’m not even sure where it came from. Getting that necklace in the mail was akin to jamming a stick of dynamite in a dam that I didn’t even know existed. Feelings, emotions and tears started flowing, and they weren’t going to stop. Apparently, they haven’t stopped yet. I’m not done with the topic, and I’m convinced that this flood is sending me further down the path that I’m supposed to be on. The tidal wave of emotions is pushing me faster, and I’m not afraid. In fact, I can’t wait to see how far it takes me. This is another exercise in authenticity and speaking truth. Both of those expressions are over-used. But if we set out in search of those things, with integrity, the pursuit of authenticity and truth gets us closer to who we are meant to be.
I can’t remember if I ever thought I was pretty. I have a vague recollection that I felt beautiful, for the first time, when I held my newborn babies. I was swollen, blotchy, sweaty and exhausted, but I felt beautiful.
“Will the rest of your party be joining you?” “It’s too bad your dad couldn’t come with on your vacation.” “Father couldn’t join the family on the cruise?” “Shall I wait until the rest of the family gets here?” To the last comment, I politely smiled and said, “This is the entire family.” I started to wonder if the cruise ship passed through some sort of Mexican Riviera version of the Bermuda Triangle and dropped us right in the middle of 1950.
