Something began to happen just before April. Our home life, already busy, went into overdrive. I’d been begging for spring and summer, but, frankly, I started hoping to see January roll back in. I missed the month that keeps it chill, indoors and inactive. Here’s how it started. One boy decided to play baseball. I have no idea what we were thinking because we let him. Next thing I know, even before the season begins, we are driving him to practices, or a bit of D-Bat for some

The first time I contemplated a haven to myself was probably upon hearing the fairytale of Hansel and Gretel. True, there is an evil witch in the woods by herself, but that’s one heck of a she shed she’s got, trimmed in cake, icing, cookies and candy. Just don’t go knocking on her door. There’s something about playhouses and treehouses that make my heart sing. I never had either as a child, though I coveted both. The closest I ever came to having a quiet place of my own was m

It is no secret to people who know me well, or who know my husband, the former congressman, that we have political opinions. I once tried a relationship with someone whose politics were vastly different. It didn’t go well. That particular man could be admired for holding strong beliefs, but he was too busy to get to the voting booth. That, I could not stomach. Bye-bye. Having grown up with a mom who dragged me to the polls as she waited in long lines to vote, I have made my v

One of my boys takes guitar lessons after school at the church where I work, so he regularly waits in momma’s office. To keep my kiddo from asking for my phone to see whether Minecraft has updates, I recently showed him a thank you card I received in the mail. Earlier in the day, I had opened the envelope. The card was homemade on orange construction paper. A photograph was taped to the front. It was a picture of a group of children and one adult, each of them smiling widely.

In elementary school, I, along with millions of other children before and after me, loved Maurice Sendak’s book, “Where the Wild Things Are. ” The story is a short text with illustrations of the little boy Max in his wolf costume, making too much mischief at home. As punishment, he is sent to his room, which transforms into a jungle. Max’s ensuing play with beasts and wild things gives him opportunity to explore and take risks in the forest. Perhaps we need to give our childr

During the big-reveal ultrasound that identified our triplets’ genders, the tech announced we were having three more boys. With a ridiculous total of four, we assumed we’d spend hours on soccer or baseball fields, maybe sitting on bleachers, the back of our van filled with sports equipment. How would we navigate the unfamiliar, organized sports for kids that has become the American norm, the meets and weekend-long tournaments? As older parents, scheduled sports were not our e

My children do not believe, as I do, that the first day back-to-school is, for some people, a national holiday. Sadly, parental celebration excludes the amazingly dedicated teachers who show up to greet their new halflings for the year. In acknowledgement and appreciation of these Lions of Education, many parents will volunteer hours in school, including slipping yummy treats into the lounge. While the kids may complain about getting up earlier and the new routine of school,

My son’s 5th grade class and some middle schoolers were taking a trip to Space Camp in Huntsville, Alabama. I wasn’t sure I should go. I’m not particularly fond of pretending to shoot off in space. However, it has occurred to me to shoot my family off in space. I’m sure they’d be just fine. Actually, I know a bit about advanced mission colonies. I’ve been living in a spacey station for over eight years. That’s when I gave birth to three more boys, which made four, counting my

In my spiritual tradition, we have a peculiar Christian ritual some might consider strange. As a way to symbolize the forty days preceding Easter and the season of Lent, we gather on Ash Wednesday and the pastor smears our foreheads with ashes in the sign of a cross. The previous year’s dried up Palm Sunday branches are burned for this sacred moment. Or, to give the ashes that Grade-A deepest gray color, they are pre-ordered from the church supply catalog. Once we receive the