A Sticky Catharsis


It all started with a hoodie and my son’s unyielding refusal to remove it from his head. The day, which began like so many others, quickly evolved into a battle of wills. With our son we have learned that attitudes and physical discomfort go hand-in-hand, but, at least in this case, there was no external sign of illness.

We made his final preparations for preschool and silently offered a prayer for his teachers.


As soon as I pulled into our garage after school that day, my son dashed to the backyard, grabbed the largest stick he could hold, and began hitting a nearby tree with all of the force his svelte body could muster. His hoodie may have been the color of ashes, but there was clearly a fire burning within my child.

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The Other Side


My son has recently become obsessed with shoes. Not his shoes, of course, but Mom and Dad’s. We encourage him to explore (even when this leads to us tripping over said shoes), but we always remind him of the danger of trying to wear shoes that are too big: he might fall.

Isn’t this a beautiful metaphor for life? We spend so much of our time trying to rush our lives away to get to the good parts – where the shoe fits and where we think we will no longer fall.

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Take Off Your Mask and Follow Me*


I live in a small Southern community and every day is a masquerade. When my husband and I moved here a little over two years ago, we were greeted with some very personal questions: “When do you think you’ll leave?” and “Wait, you bought a house?” Additionally, we received some unsettling advice: “You will never fit in here” and “Don’t raise your children here”.

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Antidote for a Mother’s Pride


How do you know when your child is sucking her thumb? She’s covered from head to toe in her own excrement and remains peacefully asleep. True story.

Although few things have come easily to me in life, hard work and determination have often overcompensated to pave the way for success. This reminds me of the six months that I poured into marathon training back in 2010. I had a dream; prepared and completed every scheduled run despite numerous injuries; and met my marathon goal by finishing in less than four and a half hours. These are the kind of personal victories that, unfortunately, make one a little prideful.

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