Our daughter lost her first tooth a few weeks ago. As I stared into that gaping hole in her mouth, I did the thing where you internally tear up and think, ‘where did my little baby go?’ in that wistful, nostalgic way. ‘It was only yesterday that I was holding her in my arms!’
Sometimes I get into a parenting funk. Or really, a life funk. One of those seasons when there are too many demands on time and energy, too many nights punctuated by sleepless children, too many ills in the world reminding us that the kingdom of God is still super not yet here.
I don’t like doing things badly. I don’t like doing things badly in front of other people. I really don’t like doing things badly with a bathing suit on in front of other people. This was the set of parameters I had to work with for my Annual Discernment of Kit’s Lenten Practice this year.
I’ve commented to friends once too often that I am deeply grateful that social media and camera phones weren’t a thing when I was in college.
As I stared at the crowds amassed around our holy family, it occurred to me that with our first child, other than the occasional comment on our parenting and her stranger glare reserved demeanor, we were pretty much left alone as parents to sink or float.
I didn’t realize I knew Amelia Bloomer even before I read about her for this post. Growing up in a cluster of all-girls, uniform-enforcing schools, I was introduced to one of her lasting gifts to the world first hand: the bloomer.
In anticipation of leaving our children for a period of four days with their stalwart grandparents, my husband and I
“Is she a girly-girl or a tomboy?” I recall staring at the woman who had just posed the question to
At some point I was told that adults were the only ones with true wisdom and knowledge. And then I
Failing was my entrance into a holy Lent.
