It’s Your Bowl.

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Everything is everywhere right now as we pack to move out of my parents’ basement. It’s not the triumphant move into a bougie condo or a three bedroom single-family home that we were hoping for, but it is a lateral move to a two bedroom apartment with a dishwasher and a flex space.

Enough is.

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This post isn’t a narrative. It’s just a screenshot. A wide pano zoom and a close up of a moment. It’s a sequence of words that forms the image of nine-months-old. Of happy babbles at 5:14 AM. Of little syllables that almost sound like Dad, but for the added J. “Dajd, Dajd, Dajd.”

It’s—inexplicably—an image of apple sauce crust on a forehead. It’s gurgly growls and a little hand on Dad’s nose, and a father waking up, first with a start and then with a smile. It’s the light of the closet, backlighting my boys as father whisks son into the air. It’s the silhouette of noses and upturned grins. It’s a literal silver lining after a disappointing few weeks.

It’s 5:17 AM gurgle giggles, and whimpers from a dog who hasn’t been replaced, but thinks she has. It’s the gentle bounce of four paws joining the fray, and a wet nose probing foreheads with a hearty good morning.

It’s a little boy who has been out longer than he was in. Which isn’t everything. But who has time for everything today?

It is enough.

Let’s Have Some Stars

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Maeby is mad at me. Today she made a pass at my chocolate protein bar, which is like a brick of poison for her (because, chocolate kills dogs, and also because Protein gives her urinary tract infections). Being the good mom that I am, I leapt for the protein bar and disentangled it from her jaws. It was an unpleasant experience for both of us; Maeby’s favorite food is chocolate and she really resented my forceful robbery. (To be fair, she robbed me first.).

The Cookie Lady

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My sister bakes cookies.

One night, I was staying at my sister’s new home in Utah, when I wandered upstairs for a midnight snack. The house was dark, save for the well-lit kitchen. The lights concentrated on my sister, Bethany, while she concentrated on cookies. Flour coated her cheek, mostly just a light layer of dust except for one thick stripe along her cheekbone. She had her hair pulled in a messy bun, potential flyaways tamed by a small, stretchy headband. She’s short and her counter is tall. She pounded and rolled cookie dough from a giant mound she’d been working on for hours while the Game of Thrones played in the background. I get to see her all the time, but she struck me then as particularly beautiful.

Just Fathering

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Today was one of the very first days of my life where I felt like all of me.

I write this post in Winnemucca, Nevada. It’s a small town, population >8,000, but a motel on every corner. There is one main street, and then other lateral streets are labeled First, Second, and Third Street. I don’t believe it goes higher than Fourth Street.

And believe it or not, it’s been in this tiny town, with basically only four streets, that I felt like all of me. Because today I got to be a mom and a teacher.

Bothness

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In a series of grueling experiences, I’ve had to learn how to sit with cognitive dissonance.

And just the other day, I was sitting in the car realizing just how good at it I’ve become. I’m the opposite of myself–or opposites exist within me, just… no longer oppositionally. 

Collection

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It’s 5:24 am and it is unclear whether or not i have actually gotten you to sleep. You have a noises I don’t yet understand, but it’s a good bet that every grunt belongs to the effort of somehow wrestling your hands to your face.

Baby, you love your hands. You use them as shields, as clasps, as antennas, as feelers. You need them near your face, preferably above your face. I thought I was going to love your feet most, but Hudson, it’s your hands that define you.