Hawaii honeymoon

Grace in Small Things: #4


1. Water parks.

2. Husbands who bring home a burger and fries at the exact moment you’re thinking, “I could really go for a burger and fries.”

3. The ice-cream-and-baby-kicks combination.

4. When all you need is love, and you get it.

5. Finding the light again.

Things I’m Afraid To Tell You

There’s a bit of a movement happening in the blogosphere. Jess from Makeunder My Life wrote a post called Things I’m Afraid To Tell You. Ez of Creature Comforts took the idea and ran with it (including designing the image you see below), and the Huffington Post thought it was such a good idea they published a piece about it.

Now Lisa from joycreation is keeping it alive.

I love this idea, because I think one of the most valuable things bloggers offer is a peek inside someone else’s head. We tell you things we might otherwise never voice, and in doing so make others feel less alone. That’s what some bloggers have done for me and what I hope to do for others.

I know, you’re probably wondering what on Earth I’m afraid to tell you, especially after recent posts about how I’m sad about not having a girl and my recurring slide into depression. But there are things. Probably lots of things. Many more things than you’ll find in this post, not because I don’t want to share them but because I honestly thing some of them are buried so deep even I don’t know they’re there. But I do have some things on my mind lately that I’m afraid to say out loud because they’re hard and they’re not the things I like most about myself. So I’ve joined up with Lisa and some other bloggers who want to share their things as well for this edition of Things I’m Afraid to Tell You.

Here’s my list.


I’m not sure if moving was the right decision. I’m not sure it was the wrong decision, but so far we haven’t accomplished what we set out to accomplish, which is avoiding me working all the time and wanting to throw myself in front of a truck.


I’m getting more introverted as I get older, and I’m starting to like people less and less. I’m accepting them more, but liking them less. We’ve lived here for 6 months and I really don’t care at this point whether I make new friends. I have no desire to go out and chat and get to know people. I just want to come home and see my family and walk my dog and write.


The above-referenced post about depression was really hard to publish. I have posted a ton of really personal stuff on this blog in the last year and a half, but it’s getting harder to admit when I’m not doing okay. I thought I had moved past that and figured out what it all meant. I haven’t.


I fear I won’t be any better of a mother the second time around. I read a beautiful post by Angie from The Little Mumma about her four-week-old daughter. It included a piece that caused a bit of a revelation for me:

“People ask me if she is a good baby. I say she is a dream. She doesn’t sleep through the night, she prefers to be held, she upchucks regularly. But still, I’m not lying. To me, she is a dream. A newborn dream. Feeding regularly (feels like constantly!), wanting closeness to Mumma, crying when she needs something. To me, these are normal, newborn things and I try not to buy into the idea of what she should be doing.”

Well there you go. If that isn’t the secret to new motherhood, I don’t know what is. The thing is, my revelation lasted about four seconds and deep down I question whether I have any ability whatsoever to remember that this is what life is about for a newborn and not wish it were different.

Despite all I’ve gone through in the last four years, despite all my learning – both the usual way and the incredibly hard way – I’m not sure I’ve learned this lesson. And I question whether I will stay sane this time, and I wonder if perhaps I’m already doing wrong by this beautiful baby we’ve chosen to bring into the world.

And those are the things I’m afraid to tell you.

Things I'm Afraid To Tell You

If you’re a blogger and wish to join in, please do. We’d love to have you. The link-up below is open until Tuesday, June 19.

Please click around and visit those who have chosen to share. I know they’d appreciate the support.

Grace in Small Things: #3


I sincerely hope so, and that it's exciting in a good way.

The weekend was not good, and this list was harder to make than the last two when I started it a couple of days ago. But here’s where it ended up.

  1. Chocolate for breakfast.
  2. Painting my nails, which makes me feel just a little bit less like a lazy slob.
  3. Dinner out in my old hood and a nostalgic drive past my childhood home.
  4. An evening walk with the dog in the sunshine. We both needed it.
  5. Pickles.

Today was better.

Waging a battle against embitterment and taking part in Grace in Small Things.

Grace in Small Things: #2

I’m a bit stuck for words right now for some reason. Too much thinking in my head and not enough thinking with my fingers.

In the absence of being able to give you big thoughts, I will give you small ones. Things I appreciate when I take time to notice them. Last week’s reflections were helpful.

  1. A dog who likes to visit me in bed (even if he farts).
  2. Fruit salad at the start of summer.
  3. Some new clothes when one is busting out of the old ones.
  4. Seeing the new baby.
  5. Moments in which I appreciate that my first baby is still pretty little, even if he won’t be that way for long.

toddler asleep in car seat

What have you noticed lately?

Waging a battle against embitterment and taking part in Grace in Small Things.

Grace in Small Things: #1


We’re “home” for a few days, visiting family and friends (and attempting to help my parents clean out their basement). This is the first time I’ve been back since we moved and the perspective it provides is interesting, and useful.

I’m not having a lot of success with my gratitude journal, so instead am going to join Schmutzie for Grace in Small Things.

1. Green. Green trees, green grass. Green is in the air and green is life.

2. Afternoon naps.

3. Food, forgotten and remembered.

4. The voices of generations.

5. Finding the piece of yourself you can only see in the eyes of friends who know you well.