Nurture Her Nature

Pixie Dust Knowledge for the Win!

Family, friends, colleagues, strangers stuck with me in the elevator—STORY IS INTERESTED IN LEARNING TO READ! You’ve nogirl-187677_1280 idea how long I’ve waited for this day. Well, if you’ve spent more than five minutes with me in the last three years, you probably do. You see, I’ve had a not-at-all-unreasonable fear that I would be the only editor/writer with an illiterate child.

Story has always loved books. She loved to gum them. She loved to chew on them. She loved to color in them. She loved to spread them out all over her bedroom floor. And she loved for me to read them to her. But she had no interest whatsoever in learning to read them.

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When Doing Your Job Breaks Your Heart

by Elizabeth Stasny

Going to collegeLater this morning, I have to take Rebecca to move into her dorm room. The car is packed with her stuff. She has been preparing for the move all summer — buying XL twin bed sheets, bedspread, new computer, books, clothes (after all, she wore a uniform to school until now), and more. On Monday night, we had a dry run — she insisted that we pack everything into the car to make sure it would fit. After a bit of consolidating, we fit it all into the Honda Civic. It really is going to happen — Rebecca will be leaving for college. (more…)

Home Is Where Our Story Begins

This Thursday marks the second anniversary of our moving into our home. Our house-versary. Each year, I celebrate. Not a decorate-and-bake-a-cake type of celebration but definitely a little something special for dinner. Each year, though, as I look at the date on the calendar, I have a slight moment of hesitation. It seems, even to me, like a silly thing to celebrate. Acknowledgment seems appropriate, but celebration? My mind goes into debate.

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5 Ways to Encourage Conversation at the Dinner Table

Story is a chatterbox. She talks before she’s out of bed. She talks as she’s getting ready for school. She talks as she brushes her teeth. She talks as she follows me around the house. She talks as she’s falling asleep. The girl has a lot to say. Except at dinnertime.

For some reason, she becomes a teenager at the table, answering my questions with generic phrases, or worse, grunts.

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Let It Go?

A week or so ago we were experiencing a pretty great day. The weather let up from a cold spell, and the girls were behaving wonderfully. The universe was giving the green light to make a much-needed trip to the park. We packed up and made our way to one of our favorites.

It sits close to town and has an abundance of trees, open space, and most important, a good-sized park with a fence around to keep kiddos from escaping. My favorite feature. It is also known to be the hangout of people who march to the beat of their own drummer. This town calls them hippies, and I suppose for all intents and purposes they are. But, they are certainly their own brand of hippie. It’s not unusual to see at this park someone walking across a tight rope to your left, a unicycler to your right, and a band of hula-hooping gothic-looking women before you. It’s hard not to hum “Looking out my back door” by CCR in your head as you walk to the park gate.

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