He stayed in his room for the whole day. He didn’t have to! Good grief, of course not. He could have walked up the stairs at any point, looked at his dad and apologized for disobeying, then sat right down at the table. There was a meal set for him. It was one of his favorites, piled up on his plate at his place at the table. There were warm arms waiting to scoop him up and kiss his nose … [Read more...] about Are you a slave, a son, or a spoiled child?
I was standing beside my daughter today when I noticed the scar. I had just been commenting on the fact that she's getting taller, stretching toward adulthood way too fast for me. When a child's first birthday in your home is their 9th, the years of "little" are very few. And there was the scar, near the top of her head. It's thick and white and is usually covered by her hair, but I see it … [Read more...] about The Lost Childhood
The first snow flurries are rushing over the farm and I am remembering the winters when there were no children racing through our house. It was always so quiet in the evenings, after the little ones I watched during the day would go home to their mamas. Our tiny house would be cluttered with my papers and scrap journals and I would look around and think that somehow I would be a better person … [Read more...] about for the am-I-good-enough days
I remember visiting my sister-in-law when her babies were little. She had four children in just over four years and there were babies and toddlers everywhere. When you walked into her kitchen there would, without a doubt, be someone calling for mom, diapers on the counter, spilled cereal on the floor, and laughter or crying at any given moment. I was childless in those days and while I still … [Read more...] about Learning to Celebrate the Home-Years
One of my earliest memories takes place in my parent's bedroom on a sunny summer day. My best estimate is that I was 3 or 4 years old. I was standing on something, perhaps their bed, looking out an open window. A bee flew in and stung my arm. I remember screaming. I remember Mama holding me for a moment. My memory jumps ahead to the moment when I was looking down at the dried baking soda and … [Read more...] about On Mothering
The house is quiet except the sound of my husband chatting with our boy. Not our new little one, but the grown-boy who spent his teenage years calling me “Ma” and helping us on the farm. He came to see the new evaporator that is set up to boil our year’s worth of maple syrup in the next few weeks. It’s so good to see him. The mother-heart in me just settles when he’s at my table. Like all my … [Read more...] about The Lions Aren’t Hungry Tonight (or, when parenting is like facing a den of hungry lions)