“Can I say a bad word?” At least he asked permission. “If you really have to, go in the bathroom and yell it into the toilet,” I offered tentatively, still trying to get a handle on this fine art of parenting. “What the hell….” I heard a soft, almost apologetic version of this “bad word.” When Moses emerged from around the corner, I asked him if he felt better. “Not really,” he replied as he returned to the same task that had frustrated him to the point of release a few minut

He had spun me from what was left of my childhood, turning me toward the rich path of motherhood by his very existence. I made acquaintance with his wise, deep eyes and soft, wild hair. Together, we tried to figure out what to do. It’s hard to make sense of things, to make them all fit together. I sometimes will the thoughts out of my head, yet they stay,…like souls of those who had come for a time and served a purpose before carrying on with their journeys. The beautiful gir

It always seemed like by the time I would notice that the magnolia blossoms had opened, the petals had begun to fade and fall from the tree, leaving a disappointing, slippery mass which seemed to scoff: “You’ve missed it again.” This year, though, our tree held its flowers for much longer than I had ever remembered: for nearly three weeks, which was long enough for me to feel the passage of seasons and the true intention of nature, and to appreciate the pink-and-white balleti

Yesterday, I was having a good day, which really wouldn’t seem extraordinary except there just haven’t been a whole lot of them lately. A year ago, I had just lost 22 pounds. My hip didn’t hurt anymore, and I was a little closer to keeping up with the boys. All of the big kids were coming home for Christmas, and we were looking forward to taking the little boys on a spring break trip to Florida to visit my mom and dad. It’s different now. When I encounter people for the first

“Mom, why is your garden really empty right now?” The words of my five-year-old came from a place of curiosity. The corn stalks that had poked skyward for many months had been cut. Lemon cucumbers no longer hung along the fence posts like bright lamps strung for a party. He had noticed. He wondered: why? Some might suggest that it would be my chickens, but it is my garden that is closest to my soul. Why, he might have asked, is your soul empty right now? I can see where this

It’s helpful, necessary, and smart. It’s good practice. Also, it’s terrifying. There’s no more solace to be found in the garden these days. “Put them to work with you,” advise the well-intentioned folks who do not understand my reality of the transformation of a tiny farmer that uses a three-quarter-scale shovel to scoop compost into a wheelbarrow, only to turn (in the time it takes to pull two weeds) on a brother who had let his thoughts escape into words. I can only hope

It was hard to discern where the brilliant blue sky became the ocean’s choppy waves, where the hope looked more like fear. From his little spot in the Florida sun, my dad sends me things to read: funny and interesting things…things that he has found on the internet or in the newspaper, things that he hears the neighbors talking about, or things that he thinks will remind me of something from an earlier day. Many of these things are about baseball. This year, we are going to h

Monday had a promising start: the sun shone brightly, and I had a few minutes to spare before I would be meeting my longtime friend, so I stopped at the post office. Two pairs of ladies occupied the lobby in front of me; both sets engaged in separate conversations. The first pair consisted of the very pleasant post office clerk and a vibrant middle-aged customer whose hair was tied in a floral bandanna and whose presence radiated some sort of energy that (I inferred from my u

We don’t have to go back to some of the hard things. We have come so very far. Last year at this time, as the cold set in, we were planning for a wedding. Our visions were often blurred through the snowflakes, which seemed to come with more strength and fortitude than in other winters. As the seasons turned, the weather didn’t, until the rain replaced the snow and ice. We reluctantly imagined wedding guests wearing rubber boots and holding onto their hats and skirts during wh

I guess you only get so many chances, at least in this life. Nancy, my favorite chicken, went quietly in the early morning cold of All Soul’s Day. She had never really been the same since she had survived the raccoon attack last winter, though she tried her best to keep up with the others in the flock. I could tell she was slowing down. She mostly hung out under the roost in Coop #2, which seemed to be the place for ailing chickens, chickens at low places in the pecking order

They’re a bit like my children, hummingbirds. We never know how long they will stay, or when they are going to come back. I have made a point to keep my eye on a hummingbird when it comes to the feeder outside the kitchen window; I have taught my children the same, those that will listen, anyway: to take in the fleeting magic until it is gone. It’s a lesson I am still trying to learn. The hummingbird’s time is short, and it is worth one’s complete reverence. After making fres

My nine-year-old and a couple of his buddies were loading into our car after baseball practice. Before I had started the engine, he surprised me with what he had to tell his friends: “My mom’s going to play stupid ‘Follaton Wood’.” He neglected to tell his teammates that he has been asking for that song each time we had been in the car together lately. I wonder…when exactly do I fall from being a light to the darkness? When does the outside circle open, only to become a force

What she said must have been true, or I might have remained a captive audience. As my attention turned elsewhere, my thoughts rotated with the fervor of a metal merry-go-round, the splendor of its carnival colored paint chipping into oblivion with each passing circle as words trailed into the distance. I think this is how my children must feel. Bags and boxes placed at the will of another on a mechanical conveyor belt, moving along at someone else’s speed, headed for someon

The eventuality of the last game of the regular baseball season stirs me at a primal level, to some sort of overwhelming sadness, knowing that I need to withstand another blustery Chicago winter and defend my family through another flu season before my heroes take the field again. Two times in the last three days, glass has been shattered, with intent, in a raging fit of misdirected anger.  Shattered, too, was my hope that maybe, just maybe the nineteenth and twentieth medica