Pink Means What? More Thoughts…

Yesterday’s post addressed the pink for breast cancer awareness connection.

Coincidentally, I’d noticed pink ribbons tied all over the neighborhood for the last few days.  I automatically  assumed the ribbons were tied in observance of a special breast cancer awareness event or calendar week… [continue reading…]

Pink Means What?

What do you think when you see pink? My girls do not think of breast cancer; they think of Barbie and cotton candy, and refuse to wear it. But they haven’t been touched in a real way yet by breast cancer. Have you been touched? What do pink ribbons fluttering in the breeze do to you?

I imagine pink would mean something different to all of us. Three or four years ago, I had a lump in my breast that defied apprehension; it took not just a short series of exams, but an ultrasound and a biopsy to finally dismiss the lump as a benign anomaly. We were in the middle of building a new home. My oldest daughter was a junior in high school; my youngest hadn’t started kindergarten yet, and there were three other innocents in between.  All I could think about during the suspenseful weeks before the lump had a name was this: I couldn’t imagine my children being ok without me. I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving them. I wrestled with feeling hopeful, despite my passionate belief that hope is crucial. [continue reading…]

The Jefferson Memorial

I’m reluctant to admit this, but I am not a fan of touring historical sites–Monuments, memorials, museums (unless they’re art museums—I love touring art museums, even mediocre ones…). Also, I usually dislike guided tours. And generally speaking, I don’t like parades, either. [continue reading…]

After a bummer of a day today (January second, the dreary morning after our holiday and my kid’s first day back to school—ugh! why is this so hard for me???), I am resolved to engage in real life again. Take on the new year. Kick it in the pants, no… ok…I’m breathing…Dance with it. Yes. Dance. Though I’m tempted to crawl into bed with my last loaf of holiday stollen cradled in my arms. But. Having savored my stollen moments long enough, I must resist languishing in them (even though my second batch was extra delicious). Sigh. So.

Here is this Everyday Woman’s New Year’s Resolutions…I’m writing them down:

Um. Well. Stalling…I could write a really pretty, sprightly list of ideals and lofty goals—and actually, I did write a bit last night, but having just bungled through a really blue Monday (which pretended to be a Wednesday, though it didn’t fool me), there is a part of me that recoils at the idea of New Year’s Resolutions. A part of me that feels like rolling her eyes (yeah, right). I know myself. [continue reading…]

To commemorate and celebrate the New Year, I Thought I’d share our household’s most recent meltdown: Maurya’s Crayon Craft Fiasco.

(the following pictures, though grainy, well reflect the gritty reality of the sinister side of crafting.)

Maurya and her friend Jessica dreamt it up,

and it seemed like a good idea: make cute little molds out of bake-able clay, melt crayons together, and pour the melted crayons into the clay molds. Making cute little melted crayon shapes. Cute little cute little. Why do I keep saying cute little?   Maurya and Jessica are all about funk (though honestly it feels a little bit counter-intuitive to me to say funky instead of cute when I’m referring to anything Maurya’d).  I should have said funky little. Well. Ok. Funky little molded shapes. [continue reading…]

They’re going by too fast, these wonder filled festive days. Here’s my latest Saturday Special: our homespun Holiday Sampler

Nora Christmas morning with her long coveted pillow pet. Ez drew her name and was so excited that he “got” her. [continue reading…]

Interpreting dreams is a risky prospect. At the very least, one risks lapsing into Much Ado About Nothing; at the most, crazymaking.

Nevertheless. I love trying to figure out just what my dreams are telling me, because I actually do believe there is meaning in them.

For instance (Yes, I’m going to share). I was relieved to wake up this morning, with an easier reality dawning on me than the uncomfortable one I’d been dreaming in. It was an embarrassing naked dream, especially embarrassing because the setting was church. Especially embarrassing because I had (in my dream) none of the usual excuses for my nakedness, such as theft (I often dream my sister has taken my clothes), forgetfulness, or excessive gravity. No, in my dream I had actually chosen to disrobe, the idea of gradual bareness seeming (in the initial microseconds of my dream event) comfortable and convenient and inconsequential. (Don’t you love the rationality of the subconscious brain?). But I wasn’t so lucky. Once I realized (thanks to an incensed member of the congregation) that nakedness really wasn’t convenient nor was it comfortable, I discovered that there were no good places to hide my naked self in a church full of people (this conflict comprised the bulk of my dream). I woke up just after I’d made my way to the parking lot, sorrowing that I would never be able (or allowed) to show my face (forget any other part of me) in my congregation again. Well, maybe I could, in future, arrive late and leave early? [continue reading…]