Reader, Thinker, Writer, Lover.
December 2015

I’ve had the absolute pleasure of time- travel this week. I’m caring for my sister and sister-in-love’s two young children while they have a little getaway to NYC. These two mommies do a bang-up job of parenting and deserve a well-needed rest! I get to go back in time some 10-18 years and be in full time charge of babies again.

I didn’t realize how much I missed that baby smell and softness and squishyness. I write this as a love letter to my 5 month old nephew, who has reminded me of all that is wonderful and important and gorgeous on this earth.

If I had it to do all over again:

1. I would memorize the smell of a baby’s neck and hair. Just, YUM.

2. I would blow more raspberries on their bare tummies and make them laugh till they got the hiccups.

3. I would take them out of their cribs while they were still talking to themselves, and rock them in the nursery at the start of the day.

4.  I would let them nap on my chest, soaking in the heat they generate. All the chores can wait.

5.  I would giggle when they’re crying hysterically, because they’re actually adorable when purple with rage.

6. I would be excited when they wake early from a nap.

7. I would change their clothes 4 times in a single day because I couldn’t stand how cute they were. I would realize those clothes don’t fit for long.

8. I would pay attention in the grocery store to the way they squeal and wave their arms wildly in the produce section.

9. I would take a few more moments at bedtime to rock them and listen to them gurgle and chat. I would close my mind to the stack of dishes in the sink and open it to the sheer deliciousness of their cheek against my lips.

10. I would enjoy every little random noise and spastic movement and whine and squeak and squall, because soon enough, it will be gone and I won’t remember what it sounds or feels like.

I love my big, gorgeous, grown up daughters. I love how we can discuss politics and relationships and joke about inappropriate things. But, I miss their baby-ness. It seems like yesterday, and I HATE cliches. Enjoy those babies, mamas. You only get them once.

December 8, 2015

Written by Posted in Blog Posts, Prose Comments 8

Reach In: to your own heart. Reach in and wait patiently until you find the light. Reach in and meditate, levitate, wrap your arms around your humanness. Reach in and center.

 Reach Out: to a friend. Reach out to someone in need. Reach out and hug a furry creature. Reach out to your mom or your grandma. Reach out and connect with real people.


Turn Off: social media. Turn off the news. Turn off the voices around you that are negative and biting. Turn off materialism.

 Turn On: your goodness. Turn on a teapot or a stove to cook a good meal. Turn on a funny Christmas movie. Turn on your partner.


Sit Out: of arguments. Sit out of parties you don’t want to go to. Sit out of self-judgement. Sit out of the obligation to send cards or buy gifts.

 Sit In: on a sunrise or a moon set. Sit in on a good TED talk. Sit in on your family dinner. Sit in silence until your brain stops buzzing. Sit in on the inner workings of your heart.


Put Down: resentment and jealousy. Put down your credit card. Put down that rock before you throw it.

 Pick Up: the perfect pear at the supermarket. Pick up your favorite book. Pick up the laundry on your bedroom floor. Pick up an olive branch and hand it to your enemy.


 Make a good cup of coffee. Make up with someone. Make out with someone.


Sow goodness and mercy.

Reap goodness and mercy.


I have a question. A serious and honest one.


Are we losing our collective mind?


A virus is defined as “a small, infectious agent that replicates only inside of living cells and other organisms.” (Wikipedia).


For about the millionth week in a row, I see infection as I am scrolling my facebook feed, checking my top 5 news sites, and reading blogs. Sometimes I feel like I’m in an episode of The Walking Dead, but instead of a virus causing physical zombie symptoms, there are viruses out there causing zombie-like symptoms of the mind.

Read more…

December 1, 2015

Hello, Stranger

Written by Posted in Blog Posts, Prose Comments 2

I see you, eyes cast down at your phone, and I patiently wait to catch your attention.

I give you an open hearted smile, inviting you to share something with me.


We’re both here, we both have a lot on our minds.

We’re both waiting in endless lines and have many more endless lines to travel.

We’re both late. And busy. And a little lost in the holiday jumble.


We bump into each other in the Christmas aisle;

I smile at you like we both understand.


We jockey for position in the Starbucks line;

I open my heart and look in your eyes, and grin my most charming grin.

I try to smile like my tail is wagging.

You smile back; haltingly at first, then fully.


I want you to be noticed for a moment.

I want you to feel like maybe I think you’re beautiful.

I want you to wonder if maybe it was worth it to put on that lipstick after all.

I want you to feel like someone’s best secret.

I want you to feel not so alone,

not so rushed,

not so invisible.


You’re not one of the masses, stranger.

You’re you.

Some moments you have silver hair and are holding a cane.

Some moments you are a teen with a faux hawk.

Some moments you are a little girl with some pretty fancy glittery tights.

Some moments you’re a middle aged mom.

And stranger, I think you’re human. And I think you’re beautiful.