this is a page for

Browsing Tag: reflection

It’s that “Bother” Word that Counts

I struggle a lot with the big picture–if you’ve been reading this blog for a while, you are nodding your head right now, because you know I’ve been struggling with it. Call it whatever you want: mindfulness, being proactive, taking action. Getting my head out of my you-know-what, even. But the big picture is so big sometimes I cower in front of the magnitude of it. Tell me I’m not the only one. These past weeks have–by forcing me into the big picture, whether I want to see it, or not–put a spotlight on this little failure of mine: the school massacre in Parkland, Florida. The beginning of Lent, with its focus on the Big Picture itself. The quiet waiting on news from my literary agent, which usually sends me into a paralyzed tailspin not unlike inertia. So many things that I fret about, think about, wonder about–have Great Ideas about–I don’t act upon as often or consistently as one would expect from a 41-year-old grown-up with a mortgage. It’s a lot of life slipping…

Time Travel, Blog Style

I was going through some of my One Vignette archives (truth: I was on Facebook and the essay popped up as one my “memories.” Guilty as charged, your honor) and found a post from two years ago. I’ve posted the link below, because I just have to re-share it with you. It was just two years ago: so much has changed since then. I miss so badly that state of being the new mom with the baby: I knew I was in the thick of it, I knew I was still learning–and how neccessary it was to forgive myself or be forgiven because of that–and as exhausted as I was and tired and overwhelmed, I also knew, in the very back reaches of my head (the parts that hadn’t been affected yet by the sleep deprivation, I mean) that the time is so precious and fast. However. I don’t miss the breastfeeding. Do I miss the quiet and the bonding and the time to myself? Oh, Lordy, yes. But I don’t miss the breastfeeding. I don’t miss the nursing tank tops or the…

The Mighty Turned Two. And Yes, Everybody Jumped for Joy

When Quinn was born, two things happened. First, my OB had to put my uterus back inside my body. No, wait, I’m kidding. I mean, that is what happened, because I remember lying there on the table, watching my precious baby girl in someone else’s arms (the nurse’s? David’s?), thinking that a c-section that’s scheduled is no more fun than the emergency kind, while my doctor calmly said, “Okay, I’m going to put your uterus back in now.” I didn’t even know it’d come out. But that’s not what I’m talking about. What I mean to say is that when our Quinn was born, two things happened, quickly: a) everyone exclaimed, “Oh, she’s a redhead! Look at that strawberry blond hair!,” and b) she started screaming. Not crying, not that muted mewling like I’ve heard some babies do, but from-the-diaphragm-like-my-choir-teacher-taught-me, full-lung, full-body screaming. “I am HERE!!!” the scream shouted. “And why the hell did you take me out…