Memoir: Presence

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Memoir: Presence

On my grandparent’s shaggy avocado green carpet, I set up the Winnie the Pooh Weeble house they gave me for Christmas. Chubby Christopher Robin and Tigger go for a ride on the teeter totter.  Pooh slides down the mini slide, rolling around when he gets to the bottom.  “Weebles wobble but they don’t fall down!” I sing as I push them on the tiny swings, after I have given them a nice picnic lunch of honey, of course.  I tuck Pooh into his little bed and sing him a good night song, “Jesus is coming, coming for me, in a moment, in a twinkling of an eye.” The song is about the rapture, when Jesus will come for all those who believe in Him. It will happen quickly and without notice, I am to always be ready.

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Hamilton Tickets Hard to Get? Go to Trinity Church Instead!

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Hamilton Tickets Hard to Get? Go to Trinity Church Instead!

My 6 and 7-year-old sons are obsessed with the hip-hop historical musical about Founding Father, Alexander Hamilton.  We know all the lyrics inside and out. We take turns taking the lead on the Hamilton or Aaron Burr lyrics and our goal in life is to rap as fast as Daveed Diggs’ Lafayette.  So when we planned a family vacation to NYC we knew there was one stop we couldn’t miss. No, at $500 a ticket, I just couldn’t see taking my family of four to see Hamilton, dropping over 2K on one night.  We took the boys to Trinity Church near Wall Street to see the graves of many of the historical figures portrayed in the musical. 

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Lost in Books

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Lost in Books

My 5-year-old son and I are sitting side by side on the couch reading.  I with Annie Dillard’s An American Childhood, a book I should have read long ago and he another A-Z Mystery.  I have a bag of chips on my left and every few pages he raises his hand out, without speaking for another chip.  My 7-year-old is elsewhere in the house, probably in the smallest space between two pieces of furniture, curled up with his own book. 

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Favorite Part of the Day

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Favorite Part of the Day

I started when my boys were quite young. 

My sons, 16 months apart, needed me at every 5-minute interval…or both at the same time. 

I started to see the days meld into one another, an endless sea of diapers and yoga pants.  I needed something, even just one thing to set them apart.  Each night before sleep, I’d write that one thing down in my journal.  That one thing I could hold on to for that day.

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