Category Archives: Writing

You Too Fat For Your Feet

I am a Wisconsin girl. I wear a lot of sweaters and jeans, boots and socks, and I do not own a swim suit. 90% of the time, I can be fully covered up and no one has to be … Continue reading

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Instagram Lullaby

9:42. Finally settling down after a long and spirited birthday night. Quinn is next to me in bed, his sweet little cherub of an arm is tucked in the crook of my elbow. He is falling asleep slowly, his breaths … Continue reading

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Happy Seventeen

Thanks, Luke, for generously allowing me to post your birthday letter on this blog. April 27, 2013 Dear Luke, I am not sure if you know this, but each year, on my birthday, my dad writes me a letter. I … Continue reading

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Dorothy is Not a Vocabulary Word and Other Life Defining Moments,

“There’s a feeling here inside That I cannot hide And I know I’ve tried But it’s turning me around I’m not sure that I’m aware If I’m up or down Or here or there I need both feet on the … Continue reading

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Rumor Has it, It’s Siblings Day

I guess there is something called “Siblings Day?” Fine, here are three of mine. 75% is the best I can do on a Friday night, and if you, like me, have a daughter on the edge of thirteen, you will … Continue reading

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Pay Attention, Leap

I have been telling Haley to pay attention to every single thing in her day. “Walk from your math class to the bathroom and pay attention to every little thing you notice because it’s the details that will make you … Continue reading

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Just Another Monday

I ate too many Swedish meatballs. My aunt Shirley watches Quinn while I am teaching and though there are lots of wonderful things I can tell you about her, the main thing that you need to understand is that she … Continue reading

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Heavy Decisions

I have been debating whether or not to finally go ahead and cut off these precious cherub curls. Ironically enough, I came across this poem that I wrote for Luke in December, 1998: First Haircut A white bank envelope full … Continue reading

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The Un-Doing, Let’s Begin

During a high school Spring, I went to Racine, Wisconsin with my paternal grandmother to fill up jugs of fresh spring water from a well. I recall telling her that I would like to die in springtime. She gasped at … Continue reading

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