one of the hardest things I've ever written:

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Many of you have asked why I haven't been writing as much. The answer to that is because I've been going through a divorce. Being a fairly transparent person, I have always tried to keep my blog "real". I like having conversations with you, but it has been hard for me to write honestly. Out of respect for my family, I wanted to be careful about protecting our privacy. I also found it difficult to write about light and fluffy stuff when things have felt so heavy over the last year or more. I couldn't fake it. I don't share this now for any other reason than simply to convey information. I want you to hear it from me, but I am in no way interested in airing dirty laundry, pointing fingers, or shifting blame. I am not compelled to have "my side of the story" be heard or even validated.

I simply want to heal. 

I want that for my children as well. We are all understandably a little beat up from this process. So, I would ask for nothing more than just the extension of your love. If that is too much to ask for, then I'd simply ask that you reserve your judgment. Rest assured that I have been my own harshest critic; toiling over, thinking about, and wrestling with these most difficult decisions.


And... to those of you (you know who you are) who have carried me through this with your unwavering friendships, I will always, always be grateful.

Thank you Dear Friends. Better days are already here.

Life is for living

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My alarm goes off at 5:20am. I push the button to turn it off instead of snooze. I feel awake, rested.

I discover a good morning text from my dad in which he calls me his sweetie. Even now, even at age 35.

I look in the mirror and notice that my hair is re-growing in thickness and strength. I’m happy that no matter the size of my hips, my collar bone is still evident and elegant.

My coffee begins brewing with the push of a button. Simple.

The strawberries on my spoon provide such a sweet contrast to the pucker of my plain yogurt. It is a lovely marriage.

Today will be an 80 degree April day! I dress my son in his only pair of shorts. I admire the quality with which they were made and feel thankful that even though they are two years old, they still fit. The thought of the sun coloring his little legs for the first time this season makes me feel warm.

In her sleepy saunter towards me, my daughter’s arms find my waist. She makes no judgement or remark about its fullness or softness. She mumbles, “morning mommy” and I’m grateful for the generous ways that children extend grace.

I fill my car with gas using the tightly rolled bundle of cash that my sweet grandparents handed me when I left their house last weekend. There is something satisfying about having just enough when you weren't sure you would.

Myra, the tiniest and sweetest woman meets my son and I at the door of his school. Her consistently kind face comforts both me and Ian in ways that she’ll never know. I want to hug her for being exceptionally generous with her smile and I wonder how so much goodness can fit into a lady so small?

The morning air blows the hair off my neck through the open window of my car as I drive. NPR comes in perfectly and I listen attentively to an unknown voice on the radio. It is like having an intelligent conversation with stranger. I like this.

Lemons fresh from the tree float in the water in my water bottle at my desk. They make it taste as if I am drinking giant gulps of spring. Clean water is so good.

Life is for living-- not mere survival. Even in the hard times.
I remind myself to live.

(I found this trillium flower in the woods last weekend. They are my favorite spring flower.)


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