What You Don’t Tell Your Friends about Parenting

His little eyes stared straight ahead even though he knew I was looking at him. I nuzzled his face with my nose then kissed his cheek. In return, he giggled and licked the end of my nose. Bedtime is often the balm for my soul. Spending just a few minutes with each boy giggling on his bed about his own personal funny reminds me of all the good parts of motherhood. They’ve been easy to forget lately.
 
I called Micah’s doctor late Tuesday afternoon last week and told him sick day regime wasn’t going to cut it. Micah was ok right that moment, might be ok hours later at bedtime, but most certainly would not be ok in the morning. After a brief conversation about fluid intake, how often he peed (the glorious things you discuss as a parent), and how he was acting, we decided to take him to the ER for fluids.
 
One of the few good things about having done this before is that we’ve streamlined the process. His doctor called the ER. Justin came home to stay with the little boys. I packed a bag and changed my clothes. We hit the doors of the ER and they ushered us on back, no triage thankfully because no problem would have been registering yet.

One Lie about Creativity + An Introduction

When I was young I often crept out of the house with a bag slung over my shoulder. The bag was full of the same things I would gladly fill a bag with now: notebooks, pencils, a sketchbook, whatever I was reading. I would sit on some rocks overlooking our pond and read and write. It was a moody scene. I was a moody. If I was lucky so was the weather. I wrote moody scenes of crashing water, anticipated storms, and angry people. I scribbled on those papers- terrible drawings and poems- alternating between loving what I made and hating it for not being better.
 
At some point in high school I put the paper aside for chemistry and Spanish and geometry. I played volleyball and basketball and sung in the choir. I still loved notebooks but they mostly sat empty. A crowded mind and schedule have a hard time making from scratch.
 
My first semester of college I took an art class. I loved parts of it but a two and half hour drawing class bored me by the end. I was thrilled to run across campus with my big paper porfolio and burn some energy at volleyball practice.