idontbelieveingrammar

Somehow over, “Mom I need to tell you something” which my daughter says no less than 347 times a day and the radio…I heard a sickening crunch. The one that sounds like money and insurance claims and fiberglass bending in ways it shouldn't. Even though I couldn’t see a thing, I was pretty sure that I had just backed into something. Again. And yes, my car does have one of those little back up mirrors. Apparently I need one that beeps as well. I pulled forward and got out to inspect the damage. It was dark and late and all I want to do on a Friday night is crawl into bed, so I never noticed that some little car slipped into a space perpendicular to my own. So close in fact that I couldn’t back out at all and eventually would have to move cones out of the way to escape through the front. Immediately I saw a volleyball size dent in the side of the parked car. I looked around and the parking lot was empty. Everyone was still inside the stands intently waiting for...

I love summer. I love the smell of chlorine on my kids skin and sunscreen and an excuse to eat ice cream every single day. Not setting the alarm and no nagging papers that I should be grading. Time to actually eat breakfast. To stay up late. Time to put away the laundry and be completely caught up on my TiVo daily. Going out on a weeknight. I even like all the sweating. Summer is my season. The summer before last was pretty epic (and I know I am too old to use that word and be taken seriously). But, really it was uh-mazing. I spent a week in the mountains, a week in Vancouver and pretty much the rest of the time at the pool and the lake. It left a lot to live up to. I pushed through a long Spring and an exhausting school year just trying to make it. To summer. I had high hopes for cleaning out my house. Room by room. All the lessons I would plan. All the friends I would see and all the adventures my family would have. And it was a big fa...

For months now my daughter has been playing an annoying little game, asking me if everything is nice or not. From the back seat I hear, " mom, are cats nice?" "Most are, but you should always ask the owner or approach a pet carefully." "So some cats are bad?" "Not necessarily, some just don't want to be petted." I turn up my music back up. But again, she pipes up from the backseat, "princesses are nice right?" "Well, I've never met one but I'd guess most of them are nice." And it goes on like this for weeks. "Are grasshoppers nice? Are frogs nice? Is the neighbor's dog nice? Are zombies nice? My American girl doll? Chickens?" "Yes. Yes. Yes. No. The price isn't. They make nice nuggets." "What about a tiger?" "Well, a tiger might try to eat you." "So it is mean?" "Not necessarily, it just might be hungry." Owen growing even mo...

Dear Owen, You have gotten used to sleeping in all summer. Not wearing shirts or shoes that require laces. 6:30 am will come as a rude awakening. Your dad will wake you up. Hopefully give you the outfit I picked out and give you a poptart or eggo or something, because chances are good you will all be in a hurry and grumpy. But hopefully he will remember to get a quick picture of you before you go. Because it is a momentous day. Your first day of third grade. And third grade seems so much bigger and older but still has just a bit of that innocence left. Like you still might like me to be the chaperone on your field trip or show up to eat lunch with you in the cafeteria. And I am well aware that these days are numbered. I don't want to do the math on how long ago my own third grade days were. They warned us that third grade would be hard. There were times tables, long division and cursive writing to learn. And I want you to learn those things (except for long ...

I am easily inspired and influenced. Once I watched an omni movie about climbing Mr. Kilamanjaro and suddenly I wanted to climb a giant mountain. (sidenote - I hate peeing outside). I read books on simplicity and I take half the things in my closet to goodwill. (sidenote - I have a small zulily addiction).  I watch an episode of the barefoot contessa and suddenly I want to throw a dinner party. (sidenote - I hate cleaning my house which can put a damper on having people over). I go to the gym and suddenly I want arms like Jillian Micheals. (I hate protein shakes and group fitness classes scare me). I read some Shane Claiborne and suddenly want to quit my job and serve homeless people. ( sidenote -I love Starbucks, my job and do not know how to sew on a button much less my own clothes). The workshops and speakers that 90% people I work with roll their eyes at and think are silly make me want to take notes and be the next Ron Clark (sidenote - It is ...

Preface: I have been pretty absent in this place for a while. Writing has been a struggle. Something I want to do, yet I just don't. I think it is less about the writing and more about reisisting being seen. They are both getting harder.....which makes me feel like I better force myself to do both before I forget how. I'm writing again...but it is a struggle. What is coming out is a little forced. Some are writing exercises. (This was, it said to write for 10 minutes on coffee). But I've been learning something else in this season.... that many of the character traits we admire are not innate. They are practice. I've been re-reading The Gifts of Imperfection, by Brene Brown and she lists 10 traits of people who live wholeheartedly. These traits aren't things we are born with. They are things we chose to practice...over and over...daily to become. I used to think that patience and gratitude and authenticity were those kinds of things. Gifts we were given. Not thin...

My kids are constantly asking me for quarters. They want to put them in anything that has a slot for it and a nob to turn. I swear you could put broccoli in those coin machines and my kids would beg for change and gobble it up. I remember being the same way. Always wanting the crap in the little machines strategically placed by the exit of most restaurants and grocery stores. My dad usually had a pocket full of change and more often than not handed it over so I could buy stickers, jewelry that turned my fingers green and gum so hard and stale that I am lucky I didn't break any teeth.   Eventually I outgrew this and realized that these machines were full of crap and I started placing my change in denim purse zipper pocket to save for more important things like a banana fudge popsicle or a giant pickle at lunch. Later when I turned 16 the change pooled in the cupholders of my car for half price drinks at Sonic or 59cent tacos. In college quarters ...