Parenting is largely intuitive. Right? Or am I doing it wrong? Because this really feels, for the most part, like a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants endeavor. It's not so much the "where do babies come from?" conversations... those big ones are expected. You kind of get to plan for those. And, honestly, for us that one was easy...... Continue Reading →
I'm a well-documented recovering control freak. I love nothing more than a well-worn pattern, a comfortable sense of expectation. Spontaneity? Sure, as long as it's carefully planned. Just BEING is something I've been trying to perfect for a while now. (See what I did there? Because being is about the moment... and you can't perfect...... Continue Reading →
Growing up, our family folklore contained a whole mess of cautionary tales against being ruined. The word got repeated so often, I can still hear its South Georgia pull in my head, feel the loss behind it. Ruination focused on one thing: loss and the inability to move past it, to eventually be able to... Continue Reading →
Getting sober is HARD. But life on this side of being a drunk is pretty damn miraculous.
A gritty, honest exploration of change, loss, and joy as it's unfolded in my life.
I don’t think about her often, this baby that would’ve been my second child. But sometimes the missing of her will sneak up, unexpectedly. Sometimes.
I write vignettes: tiny little glimpses into my world, in which everything resolves neatly in the end. Which makes my life seem put together, wrapped up, tidy. But, really, there is a lot of mess before the lesson is learned, before the big picture becomes clear. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the mess.... Continue Reading →
In the very first, raw days of being sober, Amy and I clung to each other for support. Since the day we met, at a local lesbian bar, we’d been co-conspirators—very drunk co-conspirators. Now, the same two people who’d spent the past five years egging each other into hitting up happy hour every day were... Continue Reading →
I walked in, freshly pressed in a white shirt, crisp jeans and my beloved cowboy boots. My hair, pulled up in a clip, projected a no-nonsense image. Or, at least, I hoped it did. I wanted to be at the top of my game for this meeting. I pulled back one of the folding chairs,... Continue Reading →
She waits for her turn on the balance beam. My heart clenches. She’s only four years old; the beam stands as tall as her head, and she is afraid of heights. In fact, she asked to quit gymnastics because of this very beam.
