I pile the stack of books on the counter with a thud and smile at the librarian as I hand her my library card.
“No kids today?” She asks.
“No. Just me.” I say.
“Now, I have to ask you,” she says, in her rich European accent, “you have the three little boys, yes?”
“Yes.” I won’t pass this comment on to the noisy boys, who are ten and would take great offense at being called little.
“My dear,” she asks as she scans Wednesday Wars by Gary Schmidt, “when you do have time to read all of these?”
Good question. When do I have time to read? I mumble something about after the kids go to bed, but I think of it throughout the evening. The simple answer is that I prefer a good book to just about anything on television, but the truth is: I can’t not read. Words are part of who I am. And who I’m becoming.
How do I have time to read?
How do I not have time?
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
Thursday, November 17, 2011
in honor of Thanksgiving
A couple of years ago, when the Kindergartner was a preschooler, he started asking questions about Thanksgiving. No doubt, they were talking about the holiday at preschool, and he wondered how we planned to celebrate.
"Will we get a turkey?" He asked.
"Yes." I told him.
"We will?" He asked again.
"Of course," I said.
We must have had this conversation a dozen times in the weeks leading up to Thanksgiving. Finally, shopping day arrived and I should have suspected something when he jumped in the van without complaint to go to the grocery store. (He hates grocery shopping.)
We got to the meat department, and I said, "Okay, buddy! It's finally time to pick our turkey!"
He looked at the mound of frozen turkeys and exclaimed, "But, Mom! These turkeys are all DEAD!
Needless to say, he didn't eat any turkey that Thanksgiving.
"Will we get a turkey?" He asked.
"Yes." I told him.
"We will?" He asked again.
"Of course," I said.
We must have had this conversation a dozen times in the weeks leading up to Thanksgiving. Finally, shopping day arrived and I should have suspected something when he jumped in the van without complaint to go to the grocery store. (He hates grocery shopping.)
We got to the meat department, and I said, "Okay, buddy! It's finally time to pick our turkey!"
He looked at the mound of frozen turkeys and exclaimed, "But, Mom! These turkeys are all DEAD!
Needless to say, he didn't eat any turkey that Thanksgiving.
Friday, November 11, 2011
There is a God. And He likes me.
I was in the final moments of copyediting a lengthy document when the unthinkable happened: I somehow lost part of the document. Or the computer ate it. Or whatever.
It was bad.
I checked my files again with no luck: the endnotes were gone. And if the endnotes were gone, I had to wonder what else was gone. I considered cutting and pasting the endnotes from the original document, but quickly scrapped that plan. My reputation as a freelance editor depends on accuracy. Every. Single. Time.
I walked away from my computer and said a prayer while I crawled into bed for a nap. Because I’m spiritual that way.
I had been looking forward to a weekend with my family. A few games of UNO, a family movie, maybe some leaf raking if the weather cooperated. Now all of that was in jeopardy. I needed to keep working in order to make my deadline, and all of my fantasies about free time dissolved like the first sort-of snow of the year.
I printed out my edited document, planning to go through the whole thing again and make the changes on the original, just to be safe. And, what do you know, there were the missing endnotes. Maybe the computer hand’t eaten my document after all.
I consulted with Llama Papa, and with a few clicks, my beautiful copyedited document was there. All of it.
A few more changes, and it would be done. And I would be free for the weekend.
My first response? There is a God. And He likes me.
And yet even if the document hadn’t been recovered, I know the same thing is true. Even if I spent my weekend behind a computer screen, it’s true.
It’s easy to lose sight of God’s goodness when life feels hard, but it’s more true than any feelings we have: there is a God. And He loves us.
It was bad.
I checked my files again with no luck: the endnotes were gone. And if the endnotes were gone, I had to wonder what else was gone. I considered cutting and pasting the endnotes from the original document, but quickly scrapped that plan. My reputation as a freelance editor depends on accuracy. Every. Single. Time.
I walked away from my computer and said a prayer while I crawled into bed for a nap. Because I’m spiritual that way.
I had been looking forward to a weekend with my family. A few games of UNO, a family movie, maybe some leaf raking if the weather cooperated. Now all of that was in jeopardy. I needed to keep working in order to make my deadline, and all of my fantasies about free time dissolved like the first sort-of snow of the year.
I printed out my edited document, planning to go through the whole thing again and make the changes on the original, just to be safe. And, what do you know, there were the missing endnotes. Maybe the computer hand’t eaten my document after all.
I consulted with Llama Papa, and with a few clicks, my beautiful copyedited document was there. All of it.
A few more changes, and it would be done. And I would be free for the weekend.
My first response? There is a God. And He likes me.
And yet even if the document hadn’t been recovered, I know the same thing is true. Even if I spent my weekend behind a computer screen, it’s true.
It’s easy to lose sight of God’s goodness when life feels hard, but it’s more true than any feelings we have: there is a God. And He loves us.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
awkward silence
I’ve been quiet for so long on this blog, it feels strange to say anything at all.
Hey. It’s me. I’m still alive over here, busily raising three boys and wearing any number of other hats: writer, friend, editor, wife, mother, cook, housekeeper. Should I keep going?
But you’re busy too, no doubt. Everyone I meet seems to have a couple of lives going.
I’ve been thinking about this space and how I want to fill it, or even, if I should fill it. I still don’t have any concrete answers, but I’m breaking the silence anyway. I’m not going to try to find my writing identity with this blog, instead, I’m just going to keep doing what I love to do: tell stories.
Yesterday, my Kindergartener (can you believe my baby is 5?) asked me a deep theological question on the way home from school: “Mom, why did God even make such a thing as barf?”
So, yeah. Marketing be damned. (I don’t even know if I’m allowed to say that word on this here, but there it is. If I disappear, you’ll know why.) You can expect the same high quality material you’ve come to expect from the Llama Momma. Because that’s the way I roll.
Hey. It’s me. I’m still alive over here, busily raising three boys and wearing any number of other hats: writer, friend, editor, wife, mother, cook, housekeeper. Should I keep going?
But you’re busy too, no doubt. Everyone I meet seems to have a couple of lives going.
I’ve been thinking about this space and how I want to fill it, or even, if I should fill it. I still don’t have any concrete answers, but I’m breaking the silence anyway. I’m not going to try to find my writing identity with this blog, instead, I’m just going to keep doing what I love to do: tell stories.
Yesterday, my Kindergartener (can you believe my baby is 5?) asked me a deep theological question on the way home from school: “Mom, why did God even make such a thing as barf?”
So, yeah. Marketing be damned. (I don’t even know if I’m allowed to say that word on this here, but there it is. If I disappear, you’ll know why.) You can expect the same high quality material you’ve come to expect from the Llama Momma. Because that’s the way I roll.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
giving things up for lint
"Did you ask your friend what he might like for his birthday?" I ask Twin A. as he munches a bagel after soccer practice.
"Yes. I think he'd really like some new football cards." He says.
"Doesn't he have a pretty big collection already?"
"Well, yeah. But he said he had to give them up for lint."
"Yes. I think he'd really like some new football cards." He says.
"Doesn't he have a pretty big collection already?"
"Well, yeah. But he said he had to give them up for lint."
Monday, January 24, 2011
nachos from heaven
Last summer, her world fell apart. One of my dear friends got up one day like every other day, and by the end of it, her life was crumbled up around her.
So we did what we have done for years, my friend and I. We headed to Chilis for nachos and a heart-to-heart. But when we got there, the nachos were gone. Off the menu. Replaced with “new and improved” nachos.
Only they were not improved. Just different.
And when your world us falling down, sometimes you just want the same, old nachos.
Last night, this same friend and I met at Chilis. She’s facing a tough week with so much strength and faith and dignity, it makes me cry. And when we opened the menu, there it was: classic nachos.
I know in the grand scheme of things, it’s no big deal. But it was a big deal. The cheesy concoction between us, we enjoyed sweet, comforting communion. And while I don’t think God is off finding me close parking spots at the Walmart, I do think He sent us those nachos. In all things, God is with us.
So we did what we have done for years, my friend and I. We headed to Chilis for nachos and a heart-to-heart. But when we got there, the nachos were gone. Off the menu. Replaced with “new and improved” nachos.
Only they were not improved. Just different.
And when your world us falling down, sometimes you just want the same, old nachos.
Last night, this same friend and I met at Chilis. She’s facing a tough week with so much strength and faith and dignity, it makes me cry. And when we opened the menu, there it was: classic nachos.
I know in the grand scheme of things, it’s no big deal. But it was a big deal. The cheesy concoction between us, we enjoyed sweet, comforting communion. And while I don’t think God is off finding me close parking spots at the Walmart, I do think He sent us those nachos. In all things, God is with us.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Keep it Simple Sister
Christmas.
It’s coming.
And I feel compelled to break the silence on this blog to share a few thoughts. Jill Savaage had a great post this morning on simplifying the holiday season, and I wholeheartedly agree.
All around me, women have that glazed expression that will only get worse as the holidays get nearer and they get more and more exhausted. Because, as women, we are the Keepers of the Christmas Magic. We tuck children into bed and our real work begins—making the holiday special for everyone around us.
I believe this is a noble task. I also believe we can make things simpler for ourselves by adjusting our expectations. I’ve written about this before, but each year I remember the days I spent in the hospital on bedrest while expecting the twins—from the day before Thanksgiving until the day after New Year’s. The entire holiday season was spent in and out of active labor, and you know what? It didn’t matter that I didn’t send a single Christmas card, put out a single decoration, or purchase a single Christmas gift. All that mattered to me was that my little family was safe and together. Truly.
The rest of it? It’s optional.
Let that free you, my friend. Do you dread sending Christmas cards? Don’t. Find another way to keep in touch with faraway friends. Hate buying so many presents? Ask people if they still want to exchange gifts. In this economic climate, people are happy to cross someone off of their gift list.
And the most important piece of advice I can give you, mother-of-young-children-I’m-talking-to-you: keep your kids’ expectations reasonable. Don’t go overboard. Young children enjoy gifts more when there are fewer of them. If your kids are older, it may be hard to backtrack; but if they’re little, resist the urge to overindulge them. You will thank me when they’re thirteen and don’t expect Santa to show up with a thousand dollars worth of goods.
So, without further ado, here’s my personal Holiday Survival Guide, in no particular order:
Make a master list for gifts. Include everyone you buy a gift for—teachers, coaches, family, children—everyone. Then brainstorm. Set a budget. As you buy gifts, cross it off the list. Start this today. Just do it. All those little details running through your head? Write them down.
Decide as a family how to spend your time. Do you enjoy going to lots of parties? If the answer is no, it’s okay to say, “not this year.” But maybe you’ve always wanted to have a holiday gathering, but never seem to have time. If that’s the case, make it a priority. Put the date on your calendar and do it. My point is, don’t just let December pull you under—take control of your calendar.
Spend time with friends. Take coffee breaks, make playdates, and enjoy the people you’re living life with. Incorporate friends into holiday activities like baking, cookie decorating, and even putting up the Christmas tree.
Incorporate spiritual disciplines. Don’t neglect your spiritual life because of busyness. Find time to pray, meditate, and reach out to others. After all, Jesus kind of is the point. Remember that. It will put the rest of the holiday into perspective.
Shop online. Seriously. The deals are fantastic and many places offer free shipping. If you know what you want, why drag everyone out to the mall to get it? I’ll never forget when the preschooler was younger and we walked into Kohls at Christmastime. His eyes got big and he asked, “Is THIS the mall?” So, thereyougo. Obviously shopping with the kids isn’t on my to-do list very often!
Plan meals. If I know I’m going to spend the day baking or shopping, I plan a very simple dinner. Sometimes this dinner even involves frozen food from Trader Joes. And, no, I don’t have any pride left. But I do get adequate rest.
Make your family a priority. If you’re screaming at everyone to get in line and have fun because, goshdarnit, it’s Christmas and this-is-supposed-to-be-fun, well, you’re missing the point. Chill out and go with the flow. Throw the kids in the car in their jammies and go through the drive-thru at the donut shop and just drive around, looking at lights. Enjoy the people you live with. If your traditions are turning you into a screaming shrew, maybe you need to rethink your traditions. (Or get therapy. But that’s another post.)
I know Christmas gets crazy, but we don’t have to go crazy to enjoy it!
It’s coming.
And I feel compelled to break the silence on this blog to share a few thoughts. Jill Savaage had a great post this morning on simplifying the holiday season, and I wholeheartedly agree.
All around me, women have that glazed expression that will only get worse as the holidays get nearer and they get more and more exhausted. Because, as women, we are the Keepers of the Christmas Magic. We tuck children into bed and our real work begins—making the holiday special for everyone around us.
I believe this is a noble task. I also believe we can make things simpler for ourselves by adjusting our expectations. I’ve written about this before, but each year I remember the days I spent in the hospital on bedrest while expecting the twins—from the day before Thanksgiving until the day after New Year’s. The entire holiday season was spent in and out of active labor, and you know what? It didn’t matter that I didn’t send a single Christmas card, put out a single decoration, or purchase a single Christmas gift. All that mattered to me was that my little family was safe and together. Truly.
The rest of it? It’s optional.
Let that free you, my friend. Do you dread sending Christmas cards? Don’t. Find another way to keep in touch with faraway friends. Hate buying so many presents? Ask people if they still want to exchange gifts. In this economic climate, people are happy to cross someone off of their gift list.
And the most important piece of advice I can give you, mother-of-young-children-I’m-talking-to-you: keep your kids’ expectations reasonable. Don’t go overboard. Young children enjoy gifts more when there are fewer of them. If your kids are older, it may be hard to backtrack; but if they’re little, resist the urge to overindulge them. You will thank me when they’re thirteen and don’t expect Santa to show up with a thousand dollars worth of goods.
So, without further ado, here’s my personal Holiday Survival Guide, in no particular order:
Make a master list for gifts. Include everyone you buy a gift for—teachers, coaches, family, children—everyone. Then brainstorm. Set a budget. As you buy gifts, cross it off the list. Start this today. Just do it. All those little details running through your head? Write them down.
Decide as a family how to spend your time. Do you enjoy going to lots of parties? If the answer is no, it’s okay to say, “not this year.” But maybe you’ve always wanted to have a holiday gathering, but never seem to have time. If that’s the case, make it a priority. Put the date on your calendar and do it. My point is, don’t just let December pull you under—take control of your calendar.
Spend time with friends. Take coffee breaks, make playdates, and enjoy the people you’re living life with. Incorporate friends into holiday activities like baking, cookie decorating, and even putting up the Christmas tree.
Incorporate spiritual disciplines. Don’t neglect your spiritual life because of busyness. Find time to pray, meditate, and reach out to others. After all, Jesus kind of is the point. Remember that. It will put the rest of the holiday into perspective.
Shop online. Seriously. The deals are fantastic and many places offer free shipping. If you know what you want, why drag everyone out to the mall to get it? I’ll never forget when the preschooler was younger and we walked into Kohls at Christmastime. His eyes got big and he asked, “Is THIS the mall?” So, thereyougo. Obviously shopping with the kids isn’t on my to-do list very often!
Plan meals. If I know I’m going to spend the day baking or shopping, I plan a very simple dinner. Sometimes this dinner even involves frozen food from Trader Joes. And, no, I don’t have any pride left. But I do get adequate rest.
Make your family a priority. If you’re screaming at everyone to get in line and have fun because, goshdarnit, it’s Christmas and this-is-supposed-to-be-fun, well, you’re missing the point. Chill out and go with the flow. Throw the kids in the car in their jammies and go through the drive-thru at the donut shop and just drive around, looking at lights. Enjoy the people you live with. If your traditions are turning you into a screaming shrew, maybe you need to rethink your traditions. (Or get therapy. But that’s another post.)
I know Christmas gets crazy, but we don’t have to go crazy to enjoy it!
Thursday, September 9, 2010
The Very Expensive Soup and an explanation
By request, the Expensive Soup Story is below. And by way of explanation, I haven’t given up blogging forever. I just need to be more focused on my writing, and am considering setting up a REAL website with a REAL author’s blog. More on that soon. Plus I’m working through some personal issues—nothing dramatic—just stuff I don’t feel comfortable blogging about.
So without further ado, the Story of The Expensive Soup:
It was a rainy, cool night in Door County, our last night of vacation, and we were looking for a restaurant for dinner. After a bit of googling, I found the perfect place. The Summer Kitchen, featuring a soup bar with five homemade soups made fresh every day. Perfect.
We walked in with our three starving, slightly melted down children, were greeted warmly, and seated on the back porch. The ambiance was lovely and the waitress brought water for all of us and invited us to check out the soup bar.
The kids weren’t too excited about the selections—cabbage, tortilla, and I can’t remember what else.
And then we opened the menu. The soup bar was $15.95. Each. A cup of soup? $10.95. Ridiculous.
But it was almost 7:00 at this point, pouring rain outside, and the boys were at their breaking point. Do we walk out? And go where?
No. We stayed and ate Very Expensive Soup and Weird Lasagna and Very Expensive Hot Dogs.
Crazy. But you know what? We were able to laugh about it, and that’s worth something. The Very Expensive Soup will go down in the history of our family as a night to remember.
So without further ado, the Story of The Expensive Soup:
It was a rainy, cool night in Door County, our last night of vacation, and we were looking for a restaurant for dinner. After a bit of googling, I found the perfect place. The Summer Kitchen, featuring a soup bar with five homemade soups made fresh every day. Perfect.
We walked in with our three starving, slightly melted down children, were greeted warmly, and seated on the back porch. The ambiance was lovely and the waitress brought water for all of us and invited us to check out the soup bar.
The kids weren’t too excited about the selections—cabbage, tortilla, and I can’t remember what else.
And then we opened the menu. The soup bar was $15.95. Each. A cup of soup? $10.95. Ridiculous.
But it was almost 7:00 at this point, pouring rain outside, and the boys were at their breaking point. Do we walk out? And go where?
No. We stayed and ate Very Expensive Soup and Weird Lasagna and Very Expensive Hot Dogs.
Crazy. But you know what? We were able to laugh about it, and that’s worth something. The Very Expensive Soup will go down in the history of our family as a night to remember.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
break
I keep writing posts in my mind, but not posting them.
And, honestly, I have no desire to post them. Not really.
Life is full and I'm sorting through some difficult things in real life. Things I can't blog about.
So, I'm officially taking a break. I'll be back. (I think!)
And, honestly, I have no desire to post them. Not really.
Life is full and I'm sorting through some difficult things in real life. Things I can't blog about.
So, I'm officially taking a break. I'll be back. (I think!)
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
vacation
We just got home from a last-minute “just-one-more-vacation” trip to Door County. We rented a cottage and soaked up the last week of summer break.
What fun.
(Remind me to tell you about the fifteen-dollar bowl of soup.)
The cottage we stayed in was sort of, how should I say, rustic. Or maybe just old. In any case, when we walked in, the boys’ reactions were priceless.
The Preschooler: “Oh, wow! Awesome! We have our own microwave and everything!”
Twin B: “Well, at least it’s clean.”
Twin A: (after walking through the whole cottage) “I wouldn’t want to live here for my house, but it’ll be fine for vacation.”
And so it was.
We made hot cocoa in our very own microwave, biked through Peninsula State Park, swam in the lake, and ate ice cream at Wilson’s almost every day.
Tomorrow, the noisy boys go back to school. In the middle of summer, I never think I’ll be ready for school again. But right about now, I am. I’m ready for the routine and the early mornings and busy schedules. So are the boys.
Stay tuned for the story of the Really Expensive Soup.
What fun.
(Remind me to tell you about the fifteen-dollar bowl of soup.)
The cottage we stayed in was sort of, how should I say, rustic. Or maybe just old. In any case, when we walked in, the boys’ reactions were priceless.
The Preschooler: “Oh, wow! Awesome! We have our own microwave and everything!”
Twin B: “Well, at least it’s clean.”
Twin A: (after walking through the whole cottage) “I wouldn’t want to live here for my house, but it’ll be fine for vacation.”
And so it was.
We made hot cocoa in our very own microwave, biked through Peninsula State Park, swam in the lake, and ate ice cream at Wilson’s almost every day.
Tomorrow, the noisy boys go back to school. In the middle of summer, I never think I’ll be ready for school again. But right about now, I am. I’m ready for the routine and the early mornings and busy schedules. So are the boys.
Stay tuned for the story of the Really Expensive Soup.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
building ideas for kids
My boys love to build. Tinker toys, Lincoln logs, legos, couch cushions, you name it.
A few weeks ago, Twin B. found this book at the library, and we’ve been having a blast trying out different mediums for building. Jello cubes in ice cube trays (made with extra gelatin), looks like fun.
Sugar cube pyramids are another. We went to Jewel and found sugar cubes on clearance for a dollar a box, and stocked up. We now have one thousand sugar cubes—or at least we did before starting our construction projects.
The book recommends making a mortar out of equal parts flour, corn starch and water. I just mix it up into it looks nice and thick. Then, you build.
It’s that simple.
And the kids love it!
Cool building projects on a rainy day works for me. Check out more great ideas at We are that Family.
A few weeks ago, Twin B. found this book at the library, and we’ve been having a blast trying out different mediums for building. Jello cubes in ice cube trays (made with extra gelatin), looks like fun.
Sugar cube pyramids are another. We went to Jewel and found sugar cubes on clearance for a dollar a box, and stocked up. We now have one thousand sugar cubes—or at least we did before starting our construction projects.
The book recommends making a mortar out of equal parts flour, corn starch and water. I just mix it up into it looks nice and thick. Then, you build.
It’s that simple.
And the kids love it!
Cool building projects on a rainy day works for me. Check out more great ideas at We are that Family.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
my garden is dead
It turns out my garden plot is one of the “new” plots the park district created for this growing season. The soil wasn’t great to start with, but the bigger problem is that it’s on the low side.
We had torrential rain this spring, and my plot was completely underwater for about six weeks.
My gardening neighbor was able to get a new plot in the center. The rest of us just watched our gardens rot.
When things finally dried out, I could have replanted. But, to be honest, I didn’t have the heart.
So. Much. Work. Down. The. Tubes.
It just makes me sick.
But the alternative—investing more resources into something that isn’t healthy to begin with—isn’t good either.Sometimes we just have to cut our losses and move on. Is it painful? Yes. But this is life too.
Sometimes we work really hard and our garden dies.
We had torrential rain this spring, and my plot was completely underwater for about six weeks.
My gardening neighbor was able to get a new plot in the center. The rest of us just watched our gardens rot.
When things finally dried out, I could have replanted. But, to be honest, I didn’t have the heart.
So. Much. Work. Down. The. Tubes.
It just makes me sick.
But the alternative—investing more resources into something that isn’t healthy to begin with—isn’t good either.Sometimes we just have to cut our losses and move on. Is it painful? Yes. But this is life too.
Sometimes we work really hard and our garden dies.
Monday, July 12, 2010
missing life
“No. I don’t want to,” the preschooler said, shaking his head.
“But doesn’t it look like fun?” I asked, pointing to stack of canoes.
He shrugged his shoulders and looked down. He didn’t want to put on a life vest and climb into that canoe.
I assured him it was okay that he didn't want to go, and sent Llama Papa and the noisy boys off in canoes with my Aunt and Uncle. The preschooler and I walked back to the boathouse, and I asked one more time.
“Why don’t you want to try the canoe?”
“Well, it’s too long.”
“We don’t have to go for a long ride. We could just paddle over to the dock. Wanna try it?”
“No. I don’t have my swimsuit on.”
“Oh, that’s okay. We won’t get wet. We’ll stay dry in the boat.”
“Then why do we need to wear those vests?”
“Those are just-in-case vests. Sometimes the boat tips over by accident and we wear the vests to stay safe. But most of the time, almost all of the time, you stay perfectly dry in the boat.”
“Oh. Well. Oh. Okay. I changed my mind. I want to try it.”
We flagged down Llama Papa’s canoe as it headed around a corner, and climbed in. The preschooler grinned as he sat down. We paddled around Stoney Lake, swapping stories with our family in the other canoe and racing toward a mama swan and her babies. We enjoyed the fresh air and sun and time together floating around. The preschooler loved it.
And to think he almost missed it.
Fear holds us back sometimes without us even noticing it. We don’t have the words to describe it, but it’s there. And sometimes we just need someone to ask us the right questions so we can move forward. Life is short. Too short to be held back by insecurity and fear.
Surround yourself with people who ask good questions. People who listen. People who encourage you to try new things and be your best self.
You’ll be glad you did.
“But doesn’t it look like fun?” I asked, pointing to stack of canoes.
He shrugged his shoulders and looked down. He didn’t want to put on a life vest and climb into that canoe.
I assured him it was okay that he didn't want to go, and sent Llama Papa and the noisy boys off in canoes with my Aunt and Uncle. The preschooler and I walked back to the boathouse, and I asked one more time.
“Why don’t you want to try the canoe?”
“Well, it’s too long.”
“We don’t have to go for a long ride. We could just paddle over to the dock. Wanna try it?”
“No. I don’t have my swimsuit on.”
“Oh, that’s okay. We won’t get wet. We’ll stay dry in the boat.”
“Then why do we need to wear those vests?”
“Those are just-in-case vests. Sometimes the boat tips over by accident and we wear the vests to stay safe. But most of the time, almost all of the time, you stay perfectly dry in the boat.”
“Oh. Well. Oh. Okay. I changed my mind. I want to try it.”
We flagged down Llama Papa’s canoe as it headed around a corner, and climbed in. The preschooler grinned as he sat down. We paddled around Stoney Lake, swapping stories with our family in the other canoe and racing toward a mama swan and her babies. We enjoyed the fresh air and sun and time together floating around. The preschooler loved it.
And to think he almost missed it.
Fear holds us back sometimes without us even noticing it. We don’t have the words to describe it, but it’s there. And sometimes we just need someone to ask us the right questions so we can move forward. Life is short. Too short to be held back by insecurity and fear.
Surround yourself with people who ask good questions. People who listen. People who encourage you to try new things and be your best self.
You’ll be glad you did.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
writing retreat
It’s that time of year again. Time for me to plug the Writing Academy and encourage you to check out their retreat for writers coming up in August. (You can choose from two tracks: the first runs from Thursday, July 29 until Monday, August 2; the second is Friday, July 30 through Sunday, August 1.) Located at the Mt. Olivet retreat center in Minnesota, you won’t find a more beautiful place to hone your craft.
I cannot say enough about this writing group. Truly.
If you’re a writer in need of a writing community, look no further. I attended my first retreat when the twins were two, and was amazed at the talent and depth of this group. Even more amazing? They’ve been meeting for years, yet their ability to welcome a newcomer into their fold is unparalleled.
Show up ready to grow and learn, and you’ll be family by next year.
This isn’t a networking conference. You won’t walk away with a book deal or an agent connection, but Writer, trust me when I say this, you will find your people. I never would have finished my young adult novel if not for this group.
I’m leading two workshops this year, so if that’s not incentive enough to come, I don’t know what is. Ahem.
I should add that this is a Christian writing group, though I’m confident that they would welcome a writer of any faith (or no faith) for the weekend. Just be aware that there is a prayer before each meal (actually, a song. They sing prayers that I've never heard of before. But nobody looks at me funny when I don't participate because, well, they like me. I think.) There's also chapel each morning and the speakers present their material from a Christian perspective.
So…who’s in? (Please don't let the singing thing scare you away. It's not as strange as it sounds...)
I cannot say enough about this writing group. Truly.
If you’re a writer in need of a writing community, look no further. I attended my first retreat when the twins were two, and was amazed at the talent and depth of this group. Even more amazing? They’ve been meeting for years, yet their ability to welcome a newcomer into their fold is unparalleled.
Show up ready to grow and learn, and you’ll be family by next year.
This isn’t a networking conference. You won’t walk away with a book deal or an agent connection, but Writer, trust me when I say this, you will find your people. I never would have finished my young adult novel if not for this group.
I’m leading two workshops this year, so if that’s not incentive enough to come, I don’t know what is. Ahem.
I should add that this is a Christian writing group, though I’m confident that they would welcome a writer of any faith (or no faith) for the weekend. Just be aware that there is a prayer before each meal (actually, a song. They sing prayers that I've never heard of before. But nobody looks at me funny when I don't participate because, well, they like me. I think.) There's also chapel each morning and the speakers present their material from a Christian perspective.
So…who’s in? (Please don't let the singing thing scare you away. It's not as strange as it sounds...)
Thursday, June 24, 2010
mine
The preschooler has a problem.
He thinks everything in this house belongs to him. He walks around and gathers things up, saying, “Hey! Do you like my new ball/guitar/flashlight?”
There’s only one problem.
None of this stuff is his.
Twin B. is most aggravated by this new development. With a strong sense of fairness and a very black and white approach to justice, this pushes him over the edge. “I just bought that game last week with my own money. Now he’s saying it’s his!”
We remind the preschooler who really owns the stuff he’s pocketing, but he just laughs. In his mind, I think, everything in this house belongs to him. He’s on the receiving end of so many hand-me-downs, he probably figures eventually it will be his.
And I remind Twin B. that his frustration at his little brother might be how God feels sometimes. He gives us so much. Everything we need! A home, plenty of food, clothes, and even some of the stuff we want, like toys and games and vacations. And sometimes we forget it’s all a gift, and we walk around like the preschooler, just grabbing onto it, insisting it’s ours; refusing to share.
And God watches. He’s full of grace. He just wants us to get it.
It’s all His.
He thinks everything in this house belongs to him. He walks around and gathers things up, saying, “Hey! Do you like my new ball/guitar/flashlight?”
There’s only one problem.
None of this stuff is his.
Twin B. is most aggravated by this new development. With a strong sense of fairness and a very black and white approach to justice, this pushes him over the edge. “I just bought that game last week with my own money. Now he’s saying it’s his!”
We remind the preschooler who really owns the stuff he’s pocketing, but he just laughs. In his mind, I think, everything in this house belongs to him. He’s on the receiving end of so many hand-me-downs, he probably figures eventually it will be his.
And I remind Twin B. that his frustration at his little brother might be how God feels sometimes. He gives us so much. Everything we need! A home, plenty of food, clothes, and even some of the stuff we want, like toys and games and vacations. And sometimes we forget it’s all a gift, and we walk around like the preschooler, just grabbing onto it, insisting it’s ours; refusing to share.
And God watches. He’s full of grace. He just wants us to get it.
It’s all His.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
how to host a water balloon fight
I love having fun. And nothing says fun like a water balloon fight.
I know, I know. The mess. The trouble. The work. But stay with me for a minute. I don’t know about girls, but little boys and water balloons are a perfect match. It involves violence, throwing things, water, and making a mess all in one package. And they’re cheap!
Want to be the coolest mom on the block? Here’s the plan:
Buy a lot of water balloons. Start filling them up before guests arrive.
Fill a cooler with juice boxes or put a jug of water outside for kids to help themselves. You don’t want to be running in and out of the house during the fight. (Well, maybe you want to, but the importance of supervision cannot be overstated.)
Lay a thick towel on the floor for kids to walk on when they do need to go into the house and use the restroom. (And, for goodness sakes, don’t sweep or mop the floor before the kids come over. Do this after they’re gone.)
Set ground rules. No water balloons to the face is a good one.
And here’s my favorite tip. During our last water balloon fight, towards the end, I had the boys pick up the scraps of water balloons all over the yard by “charging” for the new ones. So, bring me ten popped balloons and get one full one. When we were fifteen minutes from the end, that number jumped to twenty.
And it worked.
As moms, we all want our kids to just help because they want to and jump in and say, “Wow, Mrs. Llama. You’ve worked really hard and I’m so grateful. Let me help you with that.” But they never will. (At least not at my house.) And so we teach the kids to help. That’s part of having a fun day—cleaning up at the end.
By the time the kids left, the water balloons were picked up. The yard was a muddy mess, but that’s another issue entirely. And as a wise friend once asked me, “Are you raising children or are you raising lawns?”
Someday, my lawn will look great. And I'll be sitting in the backyard sipping iced tea, remembering all the fun afternoons I spent with my boys. Having water balloon fights.
If you're looking for more fun household tips, check out We are that Family for more great Works for me Wednesday tips!
I know, I know. The mess. The trouble. The work. But stay with me for a minute. I don’t know about girls, but little boys and water balloons are a perfect match. It involves violence, throwing things, water, and making a mess all in one package. And they’re cheap!
Want to be the coolest mom on the block? Here’s the plan:
Buy a lot of water balloons. Start filling them up before guests arrive.
Fill a cooler with juice boxes or put a jug of water outside for kids to help themselves. You don’t want to be running in and out of the house during the fight. (Well, maybe you want to, but the importance of supervision cannot be overstated.)
Lay a thick towel on the floor for kids to walk on when they do need to go into the house and use the restroom. (And, for goodness sakes, don’t sweep or mop the floor before the kids come over. Do this after they’re gone.)
Set ground rules. No water balloons to the face is a good one.
And here’s my favorite tip. During our last water balloon fight, towards the end, I had the boys pick up the scraps of water balloons all over the yard by “charging” for the new ones. So, bring me ten popped balloons and get one full one. When we were fifteen minutes from the end, that number jumped to twenty.
And it worked.
As moms, we all want our kids to just help because they want to and jump in and say, “Wow, Mrs. Llama. You’ve worked really hard and I’m so grateful. Let me help you with that.” But they never will. (At least not at my house.) And so we teach the kids to help. That’s part of having a fun day—cleaning up at the end.
By the time the kids left, the water balloons were picked up. The yard was a muddy mess, but that’s another issue entirely. And as a wise friend once asked me, “Are you raising children or are you raising lawns?”
Someday, my lawn will look great. And I'll be sitting in the backyard sipping iced tea, remembering all the fun afternoons I spent with my boys. Having water balloon fights.
If you're looking for more fun household tips, check out We are that Family for more great Works for me Wednesday tips!
Sunday, June 13, 2010
writer's conferences
I have a love-hate relationship with writer’s conferences.
I love to connect with people, attend readings and workshops, and learn more about the craft of writing.
But I usually leave feeling overwhelmed and inadequate.
Build a platform.
Make a website.
Write consistently every day.
Be organized.
Here is my writing space.
There are a few sleeping bags at my feet (the noisy boys were making a fort), a green froggie towel (the preschooler must have wandered in after bath time and dropped it), a few items I’m selling on ebay, a garbage can overflowing with used Kleenex (I get emotional when I write. Plus, well, allergies), a few printed copies of an edited document that I need to put in the recycling bin, a printed contract I need to mail in for my real job…you get the idea.
Conditions are not ideal.
My website? Um. Right.
The Llama Momma.
Nice.
Here’s what I know about myself: I’m a writer because I love to write. Mostly every day, and mostly during the fringe hours—early in the morning before the kids are awake or at night when they’re asleep. I write in fits and starts, and don’t keep very good records. It has taken me almost two years to write and edit and rewrite a 55,000 word young adult novel. Two years.
In the fiction workshop I attended, the author cranks out three good novels every year.
Three.
Books.
Every.
Year.
Would I have more creative energy if I had a better writing space? Maybe. Would I get more done if I had more writing time? Probably.
But it is what it is.
I have three young children, a part-time job, a volunteer job, a husband, and a big house that insists on getting messy on a consistent basis. Oh, and all these people I live with? They’re always hungry.
This is my life.
I am a mother. I am a writer.
I am me.
I love to connect with people, attend readings and workshops, and learn more about the craft of writing.
But I usually leave feeling overwhelmed and inadequate.
Build a platform.
Make a website.
Write consistently every day.
Be organized.
Here is my writing space.
There are a few sleeping bags at my feet (the noisy boys were making a fort), a green froggie towel (the preschooler must have wandered in after bath time and dropped it), a few items I’m selling on ebay, a garbage can overflowing with used Kleenex (I get emotional when I write. Plus, well, allergies), a few printed copies of an edited document that I need to put in the recycling bin, a printed contract I need to mail in for my real job…you get the idea.
Conditions are not ideal.
My website? Um. Right.
The Llama Momma.
Nice.
Here’s what I know about myself: I’m a writer because I love to write. Mostly every day, and mostly during the fringe hours—early in the morning before the kids are awake or at night when they’re asleep. I write in fits and starts, and don’t keep very good records. It has taken me almost two years to write and edit and rewrite a 55,000 word young adult novel. Two years.
In the fiction workshop I attended, the author cranks out three good novels every year.
Three.
Books.
Every.
Year.
Would I have more creative energy if I had a better writing space? Maybe. Would I get more done if I had more writing time? Probably.
But it is what it is.
I have three young children, a part-time job, a volunteer job, a husband, and a big house that insists on getting messy on a consistent basis. Oh, and all these people I live with? They’re always hungry.
This is my life.
I am a mother. I am a writer.
I am me.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
because there's never a good time...
We weren’t planning to have a party today. The kids were with a sitter this morning while I ran around getting ready for a writer’s conference later this week. (Write-to-Publish, anyone?)
But I was home this afternoon, and told the boys they could each invite a friend over to play. We left a few messages, and as the kids began calling back, another friend called wondering what A. was up to, and so it goes. When it was all said and done, we had a backyard full of boys, about 400 water balloons, a cooler full of juice boxes, and a whole lot of laughter.
What a blast.
As I sat at my station filling up water balloons, I thought of all the things I could be doing if all these kids weren’t over—dishes, laundry, washing the floor—and I found myself grateful for an excuse to just sit outside and enjoy the kids.
Besides, after an afternoon of running in and out to the bathroom, the floor would just get muddier anyway. And the kids sure don’t care. They’re just grateful for a place to hang out and play.
It wasn’t on the agenda today—invite half the neighborhood over and make a muddy mess in the backyard—but I’m glad we did.
I hope and pray the boys’ friends will continue to feel comfortable and welcome in our home, and we can be the “hangout house” for many years to come!
What are you waiting for, Moms? You know you'll never be "caught up" on everything. Why not just stop and enjoy the kids, just for a few hours? It doesn't have to be perfect. Just be there. And if water is involved, trust me, they'll have a ball.
But I was home this afternoon, and told the boys they could each invite a friend over to play. We left a few messages, and as the kids began calling back, another friend called wondering what A. was up to, and so it goes. When it was all said and done, we had a backyard full of boys, about 400 water balloons, a cooler full of juice boxes, and a whole lot of laughter.
What a blast.
As I sat at my station filling up water balloons, I thought of all the things I could be doing if all these kids weren’t over—dishes, laundry, washing the floor—and I found myself grateful for an excuse to just sit outside and enjoy the kids.
Besides, after an afternoon of running in and out to the bathroom, the floor would just get muddier anyway. And the kids sure don’t care. They’re just grateful for a place to hang out and play.
It wasn’t on the agenda today—invite half the neighborhood over and make a muddy mess in the backyard—but I’m glad we did.
I hope and pray the boys’ friends will continue to feel comfortable and welcome in our home, and we can be the “hangout house” for many years to come!
What are you waiting for, Moms? You know you'll never be "caught up" on everything. Why not just stop and enjoy the kids, just for a few hours? It doesn't have to be perfect. Just be there. And if water is involved, trust me, they'll have a ball.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
time warp
It’s begun. It happens every year around this time. I look at the calendar and it’s Tuesday…and then it’s Friday. Or Saturday.
I’m in some sort of time warp.
We go to the pool and get together with friends and just hang out at home, and the time just slips by.
June and July will pass this way, and then we’ll be moaning that it’s August already. I feel old when I mumble about how fast time is going, but I can’t help it.
We're soaking in summer. How about you?
I’m in some sort of time warp.
We go to the pool and get together with friends and just hang out at home, and the time just slips by.
June and July will pass this way, and then we’ll be moaning that it’s August already. I feel old when I mumble about how fast time is going, but I can’t help it.
We're soaking in summer. How about you?
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