dig this chick

We were the last off the plane, taking our time to gather up our yard sale. The minute the manufactured air ceased, humidity rolled through the cabin. Even the air has a southern drawl. The pilot gave the girls each two wings and waved us off to New Orleans.

To Margot and Ruby, everything was blissfully foreign and lawless. No car seats on public transportation, people walking in the streets, music on every corner, necklaces swinging from trees, stores stuffed with feathered masks. Margot had her first ever soda pop — a Sprite — that I am pretty sure she swallowed without breathing.

We walked all day every day under sapphire sky, over crusty pavement. Usually one or both kids rode on shoulders or backs, our foursome danced Continue reading →

We made it out the door and on our plane! We are now gone for two weeks which is the longest we’ve vacated in many, many years. Currently, I am typing in the back row of a small plane. We lay overed in Minneapolis where Margot worked through a full range of emotions on Terminal F when I said no to a blueberry muffin. Although it really had nothing to do with the muffin and everything to do with the stress of traveling all day, the day after her mom and dad ran around like those bugs that skeet on water (skeeters?) but not as elegantly. I slept 2 1/2 hours last night. We’re cooked and the muffin denial released some feelings. I had just read about a method for addressing unsatisfied wants in kids where you articulate the outcome they desire because when you imagine your brain actually feels it as if it were so. It helps move kids through what they want and into what’s really there. I said You really want that muffin. You love blueberry muffins so much. You would eat the shit out of that muffin and all the muffins in Minnesota right now, right? Except of course I didn’t say shit but my message was that enthused and invested. It worked so well. She softened and cried about leaving our animals for two weeks. We hugged and played tag.

Margot then chose the most expensive milk we’ve every bought, as named by Andy. It was a tiny carton of organic 2% and it was $4. Ruby then desperately wanted milk just as the last call for boarding to New Orleans bleated overhead. We didn’t have as much time to give Ruby’s frustration but I know it came from a similar place. I spun her into the backpack and we all shuffled toward our plane. Single file like this: Andy with 17 bags slung over every surface of his body, me with a sad kid on my back and a pyramid of water bottles, art supplies and baby dolls on my front, Margot with her milk.

Margot didn’t drink her milk. Andy carried it on the plane and sweetly asked her once every two minutes or so if she wanted a sip, his eyes wildly determined to make good on that $4. Ruby didn’t want the milk either. The plane rolled forward, Andy stuck the milk in his seat pocket. He was tense. Honey I said, getting ready to declare LET THE MILK GO. IT’S HOLDING YOU BACK. But after I said honey he turned and his knee smashed into the milk which geysered straight up and all over his legs.

I haven’t laughed like that in a long time. I had tears and aching abs. He laughed too. And the kids. It was perfect.

The girls have been lulled to sleep Continue reading →

My words are in a few other places this week.

1.
I am no longer writing my weekly mama digs column for Mamalode. I initiated the change to create a little more space to write a book (!). Mamalode publisher Elke Govertsen interviewed me this week. It’s bittersweet for sure. Love Mamalode, love Elke. Click to read!

2.
I am honored to have an essay on Kelle Hampton’s blog! It’s about my history with an eating disorder and my love of running. To those who have already read and responded, THANK YOU. Thank you for reading and thank you for taking the time to share a few words. I am so appreciative of your solidarity and support. Click to read.

Continue reading →

Meet Rosetta, Sparkle, Cayenne and Tiffany. Our very own gaggle of adolescent birds with stripper names.

Margot named Rosetta, Ruby named Sparkle, Andy named Tiffany and I named Cayenne.

They are four weeks old now.

We’ve lost six hens since our move. Some to predation, some to illness. It sucks to admit we are down to two chickens: Cup and Cooper. Our system was pretty dang stout and still not enough. We didn’t want to get more chickens until we could create a more secure environment. Mostly, we weren’t (I wasn’t) on top of closing the run at dusk. Several hens were killed in a 30 minute window after the sun went down when I was nearby! Sucks.

Margot is very bonded with Rosetta. This chick is happiest in Margot’s hands or on Margot’s shoulder.

So, we imagined the eager thumbs of a raccoon, the body-flattening capabilities of a coyote, the heft of a bear. Ultimately we built a fence and then moved the shebang into our fenced-in yard, under our deck, up against the six foot corrugated metal fence. Because we’ve had several instances where a very small animal dug under the run, the entire run is wrapped in thick wire fencing (previously we didn’t wrap the bottom). Because we still, on occasion, let the girls run about our yard, I set a daily alarm on my phone to remind me to drop everything and shut those chickens in their house. When the alarm sounds, I literally GO that moment.

And! Here’s our coop.

It’s a beauty, as is my husband’s natural way of doing things. Continue reading →