"Appease your rage with edification, do not love without reason and objective in mind. For many, the minivan is an affordable land yacht. Save your passion for all, even those you think are lost beyond the pale." . . .
welcome, summer
Come on, summer. Get here. We are ready for you. . . .
this is how we do it
Yesterday was not my best day. It started when Mark dropped Jafta off at school. He’s been complaining about one of his classmates being mean to him. He comes home talking about it quite a bit – saying that he’s getting hit and kicked and made fun of. Jafta can be dramatic and overly sensitive, and he can also be antagonistic, so we weren’t sure how much of this to believe. We talked to the teacher about it, and she basically indicated that this boy acts this way towards everyone, has . . .
what Tara said
My friend Tara has been writing a detailed account of the days following the earthquake. I've been meaning to do this, too, in an attempt to process the whole event. I actually have little scraps of journal entries in word documents that I never posted because most of the time the internet was down. There was something therapeutic for me to sit and write things out, though, and I've yet to try to piece it together into something coherent enough to post. I'm not quite . . .
Keeping It Real: Technology Edition
ack by popular demand (and by popular demand, I mean two people asked about it). In case you forgot, the purpose of Keeping It Real is as follows: I am reminded often that blogging has become a medium for us to present our "best selves": from detailing homemade crafts to posting stunning photos of our kids, a blog can become a show-and-tell for moms that glosses over the hard parts with good lighting and soft filters. I love reading blogs and feeling inspired - really I do - . . .
brought to you by the letters i,k,j,k
Just after Karis was born, my friend Heather sent me a little homemade gift for our family. I've never even met her in person, which made it all the more generous. Heather is one of my co-writers at Mama Manifesto, and has her own gorgeous and creative blog at Cookie Mondays, Ice Cream Sundays. She made an adorable set of letter shirts for my kids, and sent it to me over the summer. When I opened the shirts and saw the fourth shirt, with a K, I cried. It meant . . .
fixing the main line
Mark and I bought our house about seven years ago. It's a very old house, and not many repairs had been made since it was built, so we've had a fair share of problems. One of those issues was the main sewage line in our front yard. Tree roots had intertwined around the pipe, and were growing and blocking the passage of water. Every couple of months, this sewer line would get so backed up that our toilets and showers would start draining slowly. Eventually, they . . .
the paradox of choice
I've been thinking a lot lately about the paradox of choice - the idea that when people have more choices, it actually leads to greater anxiety. Kembe's homecoming from Haiti has caused me to analyze many of the ways we live life here in America. I am not one of those people who subscribes to the idea that internationally adopted children are "lucky" because they now get to grow up in America. I think that children benefit from life in a family instead of an institution, . . .
celebrating mediocrity
I am not one of those moms who does a lot of fancy stuff for the holidays. It just seems like a lot of unnecessary work. At Christmas, I'm lucky to get a tree up. Every year at Easter my mother-in-law takes pity on the kids and dyes eggs with them. On Valentines Day she makes heart-shaped waffles with them. She always buys them cute seasonal shirts. I'm beginning to see a theme . . . But I am the mom who then forgets about the cute seasonal shirt . . .
Springing Forward and Spinning Around
I feel like we are spinning our wheels these days. There is still so much uncertainty as to how to finalize Kembe's adoption. After several weeks of seemingly endless phone calls and forms, I did at least get the beloved state health insurance card in the mail. When it arrived, I held it up like the father held up Simba in the beginning of the Lion King movie. I might have sung a little operatic "Aaaaahhhhhh!!" I was a little excited. A lack of health . . .
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