I've been quiet on the blog the last few weeks. None of us has lived through a pandemic before and to be honest, I didn't know what to say. This should be my sweet spot, right? The time to shout simple rhythms & spacious margins from the rooftops. After all, it's a mantra my family has grown accustomed to these last few years and I am observing how it is benefitting us in this moment. But it just seems to fall so. . . flat. Flat when people are losing their jobs. Flat when essential . . .
When I approached my new pal Karol about sharing the journey of her son, Hayes, on the blog during Heart Month, she graciously agreed. Hayes' zest for life and infectious smile is already charming hearts everywhere, which makes his story all the more poignant. But when we dug deeper in conversation around her son's diagnosis, Karol revealed how CHD has changed her as a mother and wife, and what she wished people knew to say and do when someone they care about receives life-altering news. It's a . . .
A few days ago, an acquaintance offhandedly asked how things were going. "Well, my brain feels like it's swimming in information overload," I replied. I don't think that was the answer she was expecting. Moving homes is a serious endeavor whether you're going 2 miles or 2,000. As if packing your entire existence into boxes weren't enough, consider postal and utility changes, filling out paperwork and scheduling tours for your children's impending school switch, giving away furniture, donating . . .
Yesterday, my nine-year-old twins went in for their well visit at the pediatrician. We ticked through all the health items first: what are they eating and drinking, how many hours are they sleeping, what do they do when they feel worried. And then, we talked about the other stuff—what's their favorite thing about school, who are their friends, and finally, what are their after-school activities. "I like to read and write stories after school," Harper said enthusiastically. "Oh Harper, . . .
When I was in sixth grade, my family moved from a house in our small Kentucky town into the county. My grandfather owned a farm on the northeastern end of Harrison County for many years, and in 1991, my parents bought a parcel close by and built a log home. We were country folk now, and I spent all of my middle and high school years on that ridgeline property overlooking a ravine below (in Kentucky, we call that a holler). During the years that followed, I watched our family adopt a simpler . . .