sunday lunch: bam bam


Writing down our recipe

learning how to make Italian Soda's

learning how to make Italian Soda's



pop explosion = hilarious


This weekend I slept-in and wore a robe til noon
We made messy coffee and cradled crumbs in the nest of our hands
We ate around a table, a round table
Bought a broken pie safe and now I keep all my platters on display
in a rickety and pealing cabinet that looks like it lived
a happy life, feeding anyone who needed something

same old things: brand new wings

My heart jumps when I see photos of our kids as babies. How did all this time pass already?

Look at those cheeks, those little toes. Look at the way they trusted us, look at the way they still do…

I’ve learned that I love with everything inside of me, whoever I love, whenever I love them. Boys who become men, especially my own.

Where the deepest bass inside of me vibrates, where it’s more of a feeling than a sound. My heartbeat rings.

Stopped by the side of the road, there was a tree to climb.
Stopped by the side of the road, there was a tree to climb.
Myakka State Park
Myakka State Park

put your hand over my heart: these are the words I don’t know how to write.

the music is louder
the sun, pinker.

the wind whispers softer
the smell of cedar, greater.

I feel all of the things lately.
Regret is the calm comfort of yesterday
Sadness hurdles change and sure steps take it’s place
Happiness is the ribbon of light streaming in
and the dust dances in her wake like glitter.

All the poems I want to tell you, All the
things I want to give away and watch you take from me:

if you could just put your hand on my heart:
these are the words I don’t know how to write

from the closet of my wardrobe heart.

hung on hangers, taped inside of shoe boxes
stacked three deep in the back of the attic.
Where old dresses and hats and
gloves and high heels litter the rafters.

Dig around in there, excavate my soul.

if you could
just put your hand



Today is the kind of quiet that comforts you.

I can get my feelings hurt pretty easily, turns out I’m not the only one, and I needed today and it’s “keep in” weather to bring me back.

I want to sit in wide open spaces with people all around me and music in my ears. Large windows, hot drinks, books and pages turning. Story telling, people watching.

But instead I’ll sit in a darkened corner of my house drinking tan coffee with a sea of brown sacks at my feet and baskets exploding with mis-matched socks and limp tshirt arms, just waiting for a heart beat.

On the coffee table are our prettiest crayons. The ones that haven’t been broken or disembodied. The ones we keep in a separate container, like it will help keep them that way. There’s 4 different colors of red and a beautiful yellow. Green, pink, purple. White paper.

And my favorite thing about this scene is the silence.

soups on

The house is quiet save for the sounds
of little mouths humming

the fire licking it’s glass pane enclosure
my daughter sitting nearby reading

these are moments I used to see in my head
like imaging the day when …

Our afternoon adventure was a nature center
where the cold wind kissed our cheeks and the
laughter came out wild, spoiled, free.