Recalibrate.

“Mom, you’ve been using that word a lot lately,” Suzy told me. And she was right. Without even noticing how often I had been uttering that verb, I had decided to “recalibrate” holiday plans (due to extended fam illness) and “recalibrate” how and when we went about our Must Do traditions. I recalibrated how much food I really had to cook, and recalibrated how little I could get away doing before I descended into a pile of anxious lists and {Read More}

Almost eight, already great.

Eight?! Oh, Jasper Callahan, on Sunday you will be eight. That doesn’t seem like a real number when applied to you. Why? Well, for starters I think we can all agree that I have real, real brain/heart block when it comes to my children, and secondly, “eight” is the age I still apply to Nora in my mind’s eye- keeping you at a firm four. And that’s the problem, isn’t it? My darling third, even on your birthday I can’t {Read More}

12: Yep, a milestone.

Hey Nora… Today’s your 12th birthday. You know, back in my day of flannels and Doc Martens and Nirvana-listening, “12” wasn’t a crazy milestone. Well, joke’s on me, because your outfit of choice usually involves a flannel, and today you got the prized Doc Martens from your grandmother that you’d been pining over. (Side note- If you had told me in 1992 that my mother would be buying my firstborn combat boots in sixth grade? You’d have to revive me {Read More}

Suzy is ten, and the world has been warned.

Ten. Ten is two whole hands, two high fives and, when necessary, two clenched fists. Ten. Right now I’m listening to Lindsey Buckingham’s cover of the Stones’ “She Smiled Sweetly”- a song I put on your Spotify playlist shortly after you were born. (Wowzer, file THAT one under Tell Me You Were Born in the 2010s Without Telling Me You Were Born in the 2010s.) Susannah Mae, this song couldn’t be more you. You’ll take care of it. You’ll smile {Read More}

Middle school, a.k.a How on EARTH…?

My firstborn… …Went off to middle school and I have no idea what to write. My firstborn went off to middle school and I have NO CHOICE but to write. (It’s either that or scrub ceiling corners with a toothbrush; who put all of this wild, buzzy, not-fully awake energy into my body?!) Oh, friends. My firstborn went off to middle school and it’s been so long in between blogging times that I’ve forgotten how to write. (In this space {Read More}

Change and gratitude and 41.

Here’s a true story as I stare down the barrel of 41. It’s been so long since I logged into this account that I forgot a) my password and b) the new* WordPress format of adding headers, layout, body, etc., etc., etc. (*From maybe early 2020, sigh.) Is 41 old? Is 41 when you start to yell at technology changing too quickly? Don’t answer that. So much has changed here. And so much has changed HERE. At the end of {Read More}

December 31st, 2020, a year that definitely happened.

2020 “Oh gosh,” I hear you mutter (from a distance of at least six feet away), “A tidy li’l 2020 wrap-up? You shouldn’t have.” (Really, I won’t.) (Not too much, anyhow.) Because, friends, this year…defies a tidy li’l anything. (And, yes, I state this from a position of dizzying, boggling privilege. Even from this sky-high perch…it ain’t tidy.) At best, it’s been an upending kinda year. At worst, it’s been the stuff of nightmares, the stuff that’s made the noun {Read More}

You are 7. (A post for my tiniest/not-tiny baby.)

Dearest Jasper, you are 7. You are 7. You are the tail-end of many, many things. Birth order. Opinion-asking. Seat preference. This is unfair to you, because- the last time I checked- you had very little say in how and when and why you were born, and also how we ended up choosing the Honda Odyssey’s particular layout of seats. It is also perfectly fair,  because you are the happiest little guy with whatever you get to eat and whomever {Read More}