telling kids (and moms) the truth

“something is wrong with my voice.” every once in a while mazzy will ask her dad or i this question. “what’s wrong with my voice?” and we know what she means. she means that she loves to sing, but when she opens her mouth it doesn’t sound the same as the songs she adores.  she

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your life from here

there’s a man out there in the snow with his dog. he’s clipping back the vines on these frozen lanes.  my romantic notions of owning a vineyard evaporate a little bit because that’s what these lines represent.  the hard work of a farmer.  the day in and day out.  those posts are just necessary means

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tune my heart

it was a gas station.  we’d driven hours with three kids close and now one of them had to use the bathroom. joshua was pumping gas and i thought i’d just send her in by herself.  i wanted to be done. i didn’t want to get out of the car until we arrived.  i pulled

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the judges are watching

the children are in their seats, sitting quiet, watching us. mazzy informed me earlier that she will be wearing a princess dress and she is. her glasses are perched on the bridge of her nose.  she is about to tell her classmates about down syndrome. at first i thought i’d be telling them, but instead

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resolving to receive

when we happened into town that winter it seemed they were having a festival of sorts. one that celebrated the ice and snow.  the festivities caught our eyes and we drove right past a sign that said: free carriage rides. now i’m from detroit and you just don’t see that everyday.  you don’t really see

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detroit is smarter than you

well, not too many of you picked up the gauntlet to write your own stories out.  i feel a little like i did that day with the friend i wrote about.  telling you my deep, dark secrets only to be met with silence. but that’s okay. the person i referenced in the story i shared

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amen

“god gave man and woman the incredible gift of bringing children into the world, of loving and educating.  sometimes, however, parents can be disappointed by their children and want them to be other than they are. i have seen the great disappointment in parents when their child is born with a disability. i can understand

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sugar maple

i drive down ohio roads.  i drink in the rolling southern ohio landscape like water.  i don’t know what it is about coming up over a slow curve to find a white, paint-peeling church with it’s faithful buried along side of it. it does my soul good. i spend the day barely indoors.  there is

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