A Father’s Love: Monster Chasers and Hallway Protectors

Our little family was recently reminiscing over funny memories from way back when. You know, when the girls were three and six, instead of the mature ten and thirteen year olds they are now. Especially in light of this coming Father’s Day weekend, my oldest daughter remembered something very sweet about her daddy.  “Dad, remember how I was never scared …

Books are Not My Babies…and Other “Idol” Chatter

Y’all, this writing gig is hard. I recently saw a pic that summed up the process perfectly. “You read a scene and think, ‘That was nice.’ Time it took you to read the scene? Five minutes. Time it took the author to write the scene? Five bazillion hours.” Okay, so maybe that’s an exaggeration but you get the idea. It’s …

Finding a Voice: When God Changes the Plan

I sprinted behind my son, attempting to wrap his dripping hair in a towel. Wrestling him out of the bath had worn me out. Wrestling him into pajamas was even more difficult. Now he had broken free and was running down the hall. He squealed in delight as I huffed, “Boy, when I get a hold of you…” We rounded …

The Impersonator

I opened the mailbox and rifled through the collection of papers waiting to be opened. Bills, bills, junk mail, bills…I stopped when one brightly colored advertisement caught my eye. Clutched in my fingers was the smiling face of Dolly Parton. I scanned the ad, admiring the bright, glossy sheen. Dolly Parton was coming to my hometown? Why hadn’t I heard …

False Evidence Appearing Real: When the Lawnmower Stole My Mother

My super hero son didn’t understand. I climbed on the lawn tractor to chop down the rapidly growing grass surrounding our home. Nate watched. He blinked. Frowned. I thought he didn’t like the noise the large piece of machinery churned up. Oh, but his frown sprouted from so much more. Over the clatter of the tractor, I heard high-pitched squeals …

5 Ways to Bust Up Homeschool Blues

Some days, homeschooling is a total joy. Other days are pure hair-pulling frustration. Tears. Giggles. Broken pencils. 100s. Red marks. Some days I feel like supermom. Most of the time, though, I feel like I’m groping my way through a fog, praying I’m not scarring my children for life. (By the way, have you ever wondered why there aren’t many …