I don’t know at what point I got lucky enough to truly value my friendships. Maybe it was the summer before second grade. Our house had burned down and we were taken in by many families in our town. It is hard to remember how long I stayed at each place, but I was never afraid. I don’t think it’s normal to worry about homelessness when you lose your home at the ripe old age of seven, but I didn’t have to find out. Our friends (my parents’ friends) stepped up and made sure we had a roof over our heads and food in our bellies. Continue reading
Blogs about trips are so hard for me to write because so much happens that I don’t know where to begin. I don’t want to overwhelm you with every little detail of our five day trip, but I don’t want to forget the good stuff, so I am trying something different. I’m going to make this a series of short stories so I don’t forget anything while simultaneously not boring the heck out of my readers. Let me set the scene: Continue reading
Immediately before I started writing this post, I was on Pinterest to look up nursery ideas for our new baby GIRL. I wanted ideas for her nursery. As I saved my first pin, I noticed that “Baby Girl Devens” was already a board on my profile. I had forgotten that years ago I had been searching for ideas for the possibility of a girl. Funny enough, while I did want a girl-you can read that blog here-I REALLY wanted a boy for my husband. His want for a boy outweighed my girl and I wanted him to be happy. Plus, I’d have another chance.
This go round, I just couldn’t hide it. I REALLY wanted a girl. I know some people don’t care if it’s a boy or a girl, and maybe this makes me a bad person, but I wanted a girl and there isn’t a thing I could do to change that. I have spent the past few months telling myself that another boy would be fine. I love my son more than I could possibly describe. Brothers would be so special. Two boys dressed as knights and slaying dragons and building Legos is a world I could imagine with love. Continue reading
I feel lame that so many of my stories start with “Today, at Barnes and Noble”. What an exciting life I lead. Other than the park, it’s the only free place to hang out with my kid who constantly reminds me that he wants to go somewhere by walking to the door and demanding, “bye bye!” There are always interactions there. A grown up to talk to is my favorite part, but I also like observing everyone’s parenting styles.
A few days ago, Jack and I had to leave early because he wouldn’t stop trying to take another little boy’s juice. It got to the point where I had no choice, but to leave. The woman said politely, “He must be thirsty,” which I self-consciously took as “Do you not give your baby beverages?” I swore to the woman that my child had plenty of fluids that day, and went into obnoxious details about how her son’s cup looked like Jack’s old cup and yada yada yada please-don’t-think-I-severely-dehydrate-my-kid jargon. The annoying part of all of this is that she was just trying to keep things light-hearted while my little beast was violently trying to rob her. Still, I couldn’t help but take her comment way too personally. Of course this woman doesn’t think my child is dying of thirst. Of course he’s just in a “I want that cup or I will cut you” kind of mood. All two year olds go through that horrendous phase where they don’t understand that every object on earth is not their personal property. Why then, do I feel the need to explain myself or the behavior of my toddler? All anyone has to do is look at him and know that he’s doing what he’s doing because he’s a tiny human-and tiny humans are selfish. Continue reading
As I sit at Barnes and Noble, and watch my child and his new friend play together (and thank the book gods for the train table’s return), I realize that I’ve nearly forgotten my melancholy attitude some twenty minutes ago. Having a moment to breathe, I can step outside of myself and examine the cause of this acute depression. It’s shoes. Continue reading
I feel like I’ve let my fellow women down. Most of my girlfriends and female family members have a wicked fashion sense and an eye for design. I have never been one to obsess over home decor, or even decorating my own body. Over the past few years, I’ve discovered scarves, skinny jeans, and riding boots. It seems to make me appear to have a little fashion sense, but the truth is that I do not. I can look at a person and tell if they’re dressed well or not, but most of the clothes I own are hand-me-downs from women who dress better than me. I find it almost impossible to actually pick out a new and exciting outfit and wear it confidently. Continue reading
This is kind of a “Heads up! Things might get boring, soon!” post. Today, I was looking back at my son’s very first day in the world. I don’t even remember him looking so tiny. When I think about holding him, I picture an entirely different person. The Jack I know morphed into himself around six months old. So, I started thinking about other events in my life and wishing I remembered exactly what my thoughts were in that moment. I’ve found a few journals from my childhood that are absolutely fascinating. At the time, I was just writing about my day. Who I played with. Why I am grounded. Who I have a crush on, etc. Now, though, it’s so interesting to read my mindset as a twelve year old. I want to document my life somewhere so that one day, I will have left a record of my existence. Maybe I’ll be able to see the moment I changed perspectives or turned directions on my path. Continue reading