A month or two ago, I sat in a tiny chair at a tiny desk and chatted with my older son’s first grade teacher.
Li’l D’s best grades were in Science and Religion. His worst–but still decent–grade was in … writing. (I know, right?!)
I told his teacher I wasn’t concerned, and that I felt he’d find his own groove in his own time. I explained that I’d spent huge chunks of his earlier years trying to force skills upon him before he was ready for them, and that this frustrated all while benefiting none. In fact, he flourished more the further back I stood.
I have a feeling he’s likelier to find fondness for writing here in the broadness of the blogosphere than from the narrow confines of a student desk.
I look forward to witnessing his writing journey, though I’ll support him just the same
if he only posts twice ever and continues favoring science and religion!
* We’ll even give him the password in five or ten years!
Okay, so the post itself is silly, but I’ve gotta preface it!
It’s impossible to express how deeply the musical Hamilton has moved me.*
In today’s world of manically jumping between various loci of purported connection**,
the musical represents actual connection to me: hearing others, feeling others, understanding.
So, while it might seem silly to put a spoiler warning
on events transpired more than 200 years ago,
I wouldn’t want anyone to listen to Hamilton
for the first time and find themselves
wishing they hadn’t read this post.
ten months ago,
i took my older son
to meet his new teacher
at a new school
he was nervous.
i told him i get
i breathed thanks
that, though he’s known
some hard times, he
still doesn’t know
what it’s like to be
one of the odd ones
i have grown
with my son
this year Read more…
My husband posted a contest a few weeks ago. He really wanted to get some old (like him!) fashioned snail mail in his new PO box.
Now, with his birthday just two days away, he’s a little bluer every time he checks that box and finds it empty.
If you’re curious about his contest, click here. If you’d just like to send a happy birthday “hey,” snail mail:
Mr. Anthony Closet Monster
PO BOX 20245
Long Beach, CA 90801
(Hey, Husband! Does this count as my birthday present? No? How about my including this link to my last happy birthday post?!)
a friend asked me
if i was a lefty
she wondered …
i was delighted,
but i wondered
i was creative,
years ago, i
My six-year-old, Li’l D, cherishes his sleep. He’s been this way since he was only a few months old.
My two-year-old, Littler J, is affronted by the existence of sleep. He’s been this way since he was only a few months old.
It wasn’t a big deal when Li’l D started climbing out of his crib. He wanted to sleep, so we’d pat him for a couple minutes and he’d conk out.
When Littler climbed out of his crib for the first time last week, his dad and I exchanged looks of horror. Read more…