back to slow

Disclaimer: In the name of full transparency, please be aware that this blog post contains affiliate links and any purchases made through such links will result in a small commission for me (at no extra cost for you). When I was a kid, my dad worked "in the city"--New York City. I thought it was so cool that he would get up very early, shave, put on freshly pressed clothes, put together his briefcase, and step into his car. I always imagined him having a sleek office, with a little old lady for a secretary, tracking down leads and catching criminals. I don't know my dad actually did, but I know he was gone a lot, so when he was home it was super special. Most mornings we were rushing off to school and only had a Pop Tart or a bowl of Kix. Sunday mornings were our time with our dad. We would all sleep in but when we heard our dad shuffling across the carpet in his slippers, we knew he was headed for the kitchen--and that meant brunch! Homefries, bacon, eggs,...

Disclaimer: In the name of full transparency, please be aware that this blog post contains affiliate links and any purchases made through such links will result in a small commission for me (at no extra cost for you). Every time I play a board game with my child... Every time I reach out for prayer... Every time I make a chicken pot pie... Every time I send a thank you card... ...I remember the woman who introduced me to that skill or lesson...and I smile. I have been made a stronger, deeper woman because of those women that have poured their love and life into me. In one of my favorite books,  Wild at Heart , John Eldredge explains how femininity cannot bestow masculinity. A young man without a father cannot grow to be a man just by watching mom or grandmom. A young man can only become a man by watching and learning from other men--whether it's a biological father, family member, or mentor.  In the same way, I believe that femininity cannot be best...

Disclaimer: In the name of full transparency, please be aware that this blog post contains affiliate links and any purchases made through such links will result in a small commission for me (at no extra cost for you). We become what we repeatedly do. Sean Covey Over the last couple of years, my husband and I have been implementing small changes in our family's lives to hopefully help us become closer to each other and healthier in our minds and bodies. It’s amazing to look back and see how those small things have become routines--most of the time, we don’t consciously think about doing them anymore. Our world has plunged into panic and fear and the unknowns of a danger we cannot see--but our family has remained remarkably unshaken. It’s not that we’re somehow lucky. We aren’t oblivious to the changes in our state and nation. But our lifestyle choices have helped smooth the transition from “business as usual” to our new normal of social distancing. I wanted to share...

This week was my daughter's birthday. Being the extroverted, fun-loving, child she is, she had been looking forward to a party with all her friends since Christmas. But with all that is going on in our nation and in our world, that was not possible. So we talked about it: as we ate lunch together, we talked about why we wouldn't be seeing our friends for a few weeks and why we didn't have money to get her a bigger bike. She was disappointed but also understanding. She's a good kid. So in order to make her birthday a little special, I wanted to do the little things I know she loves: like flowers, which are not in bloom here yet in PA, so we picked some up at the store. And making cupcakes, which she has been asking to do for a while. Y'all, I've never made cupcakes from scratch before--especially not gluten-free ones. I have friends who love baking and who make beautiful cakes for their kids' birthdays all the time. But I found a reasonable recipe and we had...

“Rule number one is, don’t sweat the small stuff. Rule number two is, it’s all small stuff." Robert Eliot A few months ago I drove over a deep pothole and instantly knew my tire was busted.  On the way to the car place, I was explaining to my daughter, in a slightly exasperated, woe-is-me voice, that we were going to get the car fixed. I explained that she had to be patient because it might take a long time and we would have to wait until the car was done to drive home.  She stopped playing with her dinosaur and started bouncing excitedly in her car seat. "Mommy is that the place with the table and chairs and the kid toys?!" "No honey, we're not going to a restaurant or the library. This is the car place." "Yeah, where we get our wheels fixed?" "Yeah, that one." "Mommy, there's a table and chairs and lots of toys there! Are we gonna play with them?!" I was too preoccupied at that moment to answer her ques...

Disclaimer: In the name of full transparency, please be aware that this blog post contains affiliate links and any purchases made through such links will result in a small commission for me (at no extra cost for you). I remember with much affection my first taste of warm, amber-colored, honey-infused tea. It is as ingrained into my heart as my first kiss. It wasn't so much the tea, I don't think, as it was the memories attached to it. I was about 20 years old and dating one of my friends from high school. Since my own family was going through some turmoil at the time, I spent as many hours as I could at his parent's house, where his family accepted me as one of their own. On Friday evenings, the whole family would gather at the dining room table for cards and board games. And I was invited to a place at that table, that table filled with laughter and hugs and heartfelt words of encouragement.  I felt for the first time in a while, like a child, following the smell ...

I remember being 6 years old in my dance class. My mom walked out of the parent waiting area and offered me some of her Sprite. Two sips in I heard the teacher say from the front of the room, "That's enough. She doesn't need any more sweets." The other girls snickered.  I remember being 8 years old and dreading my parents' friends coming over. Their youngest child was my age and wasn't the nicest kid. One day, out of nowhere, she poked me in the stomach and said, "Boy, I'm glad I'm not chubby."  At 12, the two boys who bullied me, cornered me in the school hallway, got right up in my face and sneered, "Why are you so ugly?"  At 14 years old, my best guy friend told me that he would be interested in dating me if my legs were a little leaner and more defined.  At 16, I decided not to eat doing school hours so I could look like the girls in my Seventeen magazines. At 22 years old, I worked at summer camp (the fittest I h...