Hubby and I recently got serious about taking back our health, and the first question we faced was: “How do we work in exercise?” The conversation went something like this:

Me: We could put the treadmill back in the bathroom?
Him: Um. No.
Me: There’s that gym up by McDonald’s (why is this our reference point? I don’t know.)
Him: But when?
Me: You could go before taking N to school in the morning!
Him: Would you really get up that early?
Me: Are you kidding? We’re talking about you here, not me.

For years I've chuckled quietly at the computer screen or told my family over dinner, “You won't believe the hysterical thing someone said in that homeschool group.”

For years I've spent every November/December nearly paralyzed by the volume of FB notifications that would flood my in-box: Wake up to 35 unread messages, 80 by dinner time, 143 by bed. Why? Because of a Secret Sister ornament exchange and prayer partnering through a support group for homeschooling moms who use a certain curriculum. I'd done the exchange once back in 2007ish, then took a few years away from homeschooling, and was shocked and delighted...

I can't believe how long it's taken me to post these photos. Actually, yes I can. I'm horribly lazy when it comes to keeping up with my online presence. What's worse is I actually like to blog and Facebook and whatnot, but these children! The chickens! The garden! My editor and agent who actually - gasp - expect me to write now and then!

I know, excuses excuses.

A couple days ago I had to Google, “What do middle aged women wear to indie rock concerts?” I came up with lots of pics of denim and leather and high-heeled boots. Not much different than what I expected young women to wear, except fewer backless shirts.

When I picked up my also-middle-aged friend (ok, not really, we're still young! Middle age means, like 79, right?) she was wearing the requisite jeans, tank top, jacket. I'd opted for...

Today my sweet daughter had a bit of pre-orthodontic tooth removal

Long gone are the days of paper submissions and eager trips to the mailbox.