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Browsing Tag: Quinn

Excuse Me While I Weep Into My Freedom

This afternoon I put Quinn down for her nap after lunch. What’s the big deal, you ask? Well, friend, I didn’t nurse her first. Just lunch, books, nap.  Again, you inquire: so why all your wailing and gnashing of teeth? Because, silly. I’m weaning her from the great milk factory known as my bosoms.  It’s a moment to which I’ve been looking forward for at least six months.  It’s a time that I’ve imagined as somewhere, out on the horizon–a beautiful sunset that I can see, but not quite touch. And it’s here. It’s finally here. My daughter now longer needs me as her primary source of nutrition, and I am free. So, of course I want to cry. I’m a year-and-done kind of breastfeeder. I nurse instead of giving formula, because that’s what works for us, and I’m lucky enough to be able to do it. But once I get the okay to introduce milk to the wee one, man, I’m outta there.  No extended breastfeeding for me, no…

The Greatest Guilt Trip On Earth

Before I had kids, I had have a list of things I swore up and down I’d never do.  Some of these things include, but are not limited to, the following: Drive a family vehicle. We all know that four-wheel drive ship sailed long ago. Let my children watch too much TV. That, I’ve been pretty good about. Go to a circus. I hate the circus. I mean, when I was seven it was pretty swell, especially when my brother and I got to ride an elephant before the show began. I can still describe to you the feeling of being so high up in the air, and my surprise at the coarseness of the animal’s hair.  I also remember wanting the animal to hurryupandgofaster, which could very well have been the basis for my habit of collecting speeding tickets as an adult.  Ahem. But as an worldly adult with a conscience and a heart of the bleeding variety?   No way, man.   It was always one of those givens for me, kind of like, I’m never going to knowingly eat a cricket, or agree to jump out of an airplane without…

Toto, This is Why I Don’t Live in Kansas

It all started with a text from my mom.  It was this past Thursday evening, and I’d had a quick dinner with David and the girls before he ran out to a scrimmage with his softball team.  I was planning to give the girls a nice, long bath, put them to bed, then finish writing a post for this blog that was almost all set to publish.  It was one of those moments when I had it all under control. “Man, I hope it doesn’t rain,” David mentioned, checking the sky as he headed out the door.  I wiped off the girls’s faces, then let them loose to play on the living room floor while I cleared the table.  On my way past the kitchen island, I picked up my phone, and when I saw the text I had to read it twice.  It was from my mom, and it said we were under a tornado warning–one was marching its slow, menacing way up the interstate that runs past Mom’s town and, a further on up the road, past ours.  Huge thunderstorms were escorting this tornado–and…