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Category: Writing

When it Rains

This was going to be a much different post, when I set out to write it a couple of weeks ago. It was going to be about fear, and gratitude. It was going to be about moving houses, and about leaving the neighbors who’d become mentors to us, and about becoming a part of a new community where the kids run out the door to meet playmates who appear in an instant. It was going to be about stepping out of our comfort zone, and about stepping into a home where David can work in peace. It was going to be about the discomfort of knowing that this might not be our forever home after all (we shall see. Talk to me after we plant some trees and get some paint on the walls), but also about the thrill of driving along the waters of the wide creek that meanders around our neighborhood as we make the turns toward our house. That’s what this post was going to be about. You know, life, and all the change that comes with moving forward. And then. We settled on both houses on Friday, March 28th (and if you…

It’s in the Genes

Saoirse told me the other day over lunch that I should write a book about our family as superheroes. She had it all planned out: the color of our capes, what we would say, how we would interact. She described, in detail, our adventures, and said that we would be called…The Supers. I didn’t have the heart to tell her the story had already been made into an animated kids’ movie that made its creator about a bazillion dollars. Besides, they always need sequels, and her story idea was really pretty good (hear that, Disney/PIXAR? HIRE MY DAUGHTER. We’ll be happy to negotiate wages).  But she was so excited while talking about her story, so, so animated (get it? HIRE HER, DISNEY). When I tell you her eyes actually lit up, believe me when I say, her eyes lit up like a Christmas tree on fire. Writers, this is why we write, by the way. And I may have a budding novelist on my hands. Lord help us all. She smiled across the table that day and asked me if I would write the story. I said to her, “You could…

Work in Progress

I took the girls shopping for school clothes last week at our teeny-tiny local mall. One store had a coloring station for children, and by the time we walked out of the shop, Saoirse held a fat stack of completed pages in her hand.  She was calling the papers her “book,” and there were a LOT of pages, can I just tell you? The stack was huge.  But she told me I couldn’t read the book yet because it wasn’t finished. The next day, the stack had grown.  Added to it were sheets of scrap paper, notebook pictures, scribbles and stick figures, all stapled together.  I asked her if I could read it, and again, she said that I could when it was finished, but that it wasn’t complete yet. She said that it would take one–“no, two”–Christmases and two summers, but that by the third summer, the book would be ready enough to read. David was putting lunch together, laughing, while Saoirse was telling me this.  He said, “Yep, that sounds about right,” and put her plate on the table in front…