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Leah Ferguson

Onward to Victory Sounds Kind of Easy After All

We took our kids to South Bend, Indiana this weekend to see Notre Dame (go Irish!) play Navy.  It’s always a good game to take kids–respect! honor! tradition! a flyover!–but it’s also an incredibly intense weekend: we drive out early on Friday from our home here in Pennsylvania, pack in some activities that night, spend most of the day Saturday on the go, and then try to pack in a bit more before we drive home Sunday. We’ve never done it with all three children before. We would be traveling with my mom, and meeting up with my brother and sister-in-law, who were driving in from Wisconsin. People thought we were nuts. I’m not even going to wager a guess as to what my bro and his wife were bracing themselves for. Thank God for sibling love. 10.13.15. Notre Dame. flyover. MOV And even though we knew we were supposed to be nuts, we had absolutely no expectations going into this trip: on one hand, the kids have become really good travelers (well, SK and Quinn have always been, and Cian suddenly has done…

I Like the Sound of That

YOU GUYS. As I write this, Cian is sitting on the puppy, the puppy is drooling on the carpet, and the carpet has grooves clawed into it by the puppy’s last crazywackyhyper sprint around the house. (Wait. Did I tell you we got a dog? How did I leave that out?). I am in my pajamas, and it’s almost lunchtime. (Pray for the UPS driver who might come to the door and see THIS unholy mess when I answer it). I am resenting the crap out of my unsuspecting husband because he got to get a haircut this morning during work hours because he knew–could assume, even–that childcare was taken care of because, duh, I’m here. Because being here is my job. Which is really awesome all days but makes me want to poke out my brains on some.  (Yikes. If I didn’t like it so much–the staying-home part, not the brain-poking part–what I just wrote would sound really depressing. I’m not depressed. But I would like to take a shower) I spent all morning yesterday doing laundry and tidying…

A New Definition

I spent part of last week at a writer’s retreat in New Mexico–a sentence I just typed with slight disbelief, because when did I become a person who goes to writer’s retreats in New Mexico? Let me just say: whoever tells you that life doesn’t hand you happy surprises once in a while is a person who’s never stepped out of her comfort zone. But back to this this retreat (my first ever writer-ly one, and definitely my first since popping three babies out of a tiny, tiny incision in my belly): I cried on the way to the airport before I left. Like, cried as if this trip were something that was happening to me, rather than a respite for me. Keep in mind that I was one of the first people to sign up for it when it was announced, that it was the exact type of conference I needed (less schmoozing, more writing. Less pressure, more laughter), and that I was SO FREAKING EXCITED to meet all of these people I’d only had the chance to talk with online, and hang out with others…