We worry so much about babies talking. Then we spend the rest of their childhoods wishing they would hush.

These past six years have been a slow, painful peel of two things once joined.

I always make a big, biiiiig list of things I hope and dream for the fresh new year.

Imagine a room full of the richest and most powerful men in the world. Hate these men or love them, they’re shaping your future.

We all deserve to see heroes that look like us and – for whatever reason – Santa is his hero.

Our younger two children will always and forever have a road not taken. And that’s confusing.

All I needed to do was cut perfect squares of fabric and sew those perfect squares to each other. 

I, as the metaphorical chef here, have metaphorically been binge-watching a lot of metaphorical Beat Bobby Flay.

The hacks are haunting me.

This is what 16 years of Catholic schooling hath wrought.

Have so much fun.

With the butts gone, I can see that the majority of Paige’s pictures are actually of June’s face.

It’s not a vacation, it’s a slow-motion train wreck that will make us some memories.

Because sometimes, a sprig survives the winter.

Full of dread, you grab the kids (they’ve been in their swimsuits for hours), pile into the car, and head to the pool.