I’ll always be there when you wake.

There is nothing like sleeping next to the heat of a fevered child. My youngest has come down with something. Or he has a tooth coming in. He was seemingly fine, and then he sneezed at 5:45pm. He’s been runny since then. Asked for a bath, watched a few cartoons, got into his jew PJ Masks pajamas, went to sleep. He woke up less than 20 minutes later, crying inconsolably and touching his cheek and teeth. He kept sticking his tongue out and just leaving it out like he didn’t have room for it in his mouth. I gave him motrin.

Now here we are, five hours later and he radiates heat. Whether my kids are three years old or fifteen, that fever penetrates not only my skin, but my heart.


What it all comes down to.

Wednesday I was going to write about my son’s birthday. And how when you turn 12, you request to light your own candles. (And that at 15, you request to light said candles for your brother, and your mom giggles at you that you still can’t work a lighter.)


I was going to say how grown up he suddenly looks. And that cinnamon cake is the best cake.

Thursday I was going to say that birthday week always backburners all my regular mom things and that I finally got to clean out the fridge (only a week late) and that I never felt bad about myself for the delay. Just joy that I could have a nice time with my family. And a taaaad bit of regret that we didn’t finish those vegetables and the elderberry syrup.


Friday I was going to tell of the sad tale of Harley killing a rabbit in our yard at 5am. (No picture.) And of skillful (read: accidental) pancake art.

And more tales of the dog being so. incredibly. dog.


But I didn’t get a chance to share those stories this week, and now all I really want to say is that I can’t find my hair tie. Anyone got an extra?




Forever your girl.

Three hours ago, it was like this.



And then the kids came with me to the store! We drove the 12 minutes to Stop #1 and I came to realize I didn’t have my driver’s license or money. So we drove back home and all the while I was thinking, “It’s a really lovely day” even with the kids bickering.

And then I didn’t get stopped by a cop! Because I don’t believe in “it figures”. We made our three stops and I appreciated the luxury of being able to do my own shopping. I drove home safely, while watching the more reckless drivers from a safe distance, wishing them well all the while.

When we got home Harley ran outside to greet us and then wanted to hunt squirrels. I managed to drop my phone and trip over her twice in order to get her into the backyard because it was closer than walking around to the garage. After she was safely inside, L and I walked around to the driveway to be greeted by Harley. Apparently the door to the house was open. And all I could do was laugh at all the follies. Even feeling the creeping blanket of depression today, I can still see all the light.

My super power is my silver-lined optimism.


Swallow the light from the sun.

It’s like the glass floor beneath my feet has spiderweb’d into a million stray lines that, at any moment, could splinter to their end and fall away completely.

I haven’t written in forever. I post on twitter occasionally, but I didn’t take the time to transfer them here like I had planned to. I didn’t write when life got really amazing and Chris was the embodiment of all I always knew he could be–better than the picture I had in mind even. And I didn’t write when mental illness took him from me–for the weeks of his anxiety at a level I had yet to experience from him, and he hadn’t experienced himself in over a decade; for the endless loop of anger and confrontation I didn’t know was possible to direct at me; for the impatience I didn’t know he could direct at our children; for the revolving anxiety and depression and paranoia and insomnia; for the random moments of cognizance that dripped with apology and hope that he could come back to himself by sheer will.

And then he was himself again. I was cautious, but I could tell I had him back. That it was the real him. For a bit. For a couple days. For a few.

And then yesterday it wasn’t him again. And I cried. And then he took a walk with our son and they had a good time. After they got home, he texted to say it felt like I was upset with him. I told him I felt on edge from our conversation earlier. He said he didn’t know what I was talking about. He didn’t text back more because he had gotten very tired (as one would after a long day of hard labor) and he fell asleep.

After he got up, he got almost belligerently, unreasonably upset about his family (his parents and sister) and couldn’t be calmed about it. Then told me he still didn’t know what I was talking about in our text conversation. I recounted our conversation from earlier in the day and he stared at me blankly.

He has no memory of that conversation.

And so here I am now, writing. Because I feel lost and this is how I find me. I love my husband like nobody’s business. I don’t know what to do. He needs to go to the doctor, but I can’t make him. We have vacation coming up in a couple days. I don’t know when the floor under me is going to shatter further. I don’t want to survive him slipping away from me. Yet I’d have no choice.

I am terrified.