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Dave’s Daughter, Corky’s Chica, Micah’s Mom: Finding My Identity in My 40s
He leaned sideways against our crummy lockers, tilted his head and flashed his crooked, pearly whites. “So when are you gonna sleep with me, girl?” His casual offer made me blush, but inside I hid my shock. And then a speck of pride crossed my heart. He wanted me. He wanted me? The tall black jock pursuing the tall white jock in the middle of a normal school day made for such great gossip and bragging rights. Good grief, Carrie, snap out of it. You don’t want to be wanted like that. Well, duh. He had no idea who I truly was or where I came from. Never mind…
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Because You Live Here, That’s Why: Kids and the Battle of Chores
I crafted a plan. I felt prepared. I started with the basics when he started walking and talking. My voice sounded cheery and I easily herded the little man into my camp. “Can you please put Finding Nemo back in the movie cupboard?” “Where does your stuffed orca go? No… not there, silly.” “You want to clean the kitchen with mommy? Sure!” Chore time with one toddler felt easy because he actually wanted to help. And the jobs were like him—short and sweet. Then we moved to Baja, birthed another baby and adjusted to living in the land of dust and mud. The harder chores required more direction, but my…
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Your Grass Looks Greener: Stay at Home Moms vs Working Moms
Two Moms, Two Letters, Two Countries Dear Missionary Mom, I see you down here, with your hair pulled up and your patience falling down. Doin’ that missionary thing can drain, I know. It all looked so quaint from a distance, didn’t it? Needy people, corner sweet bread shops, hammocks in palms. Did you move for the life the promo video promised? I’m glad I’ve been your neighbor. Living in Baja has felt attractive, mostly. It’s been a place where those old roots I planted could get some fresh air and be replanted. Our kids probably won’t be graduating with yours though. We’re all scattered around and therefore…
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Easter Fail
I knew he was familiar with the Easter story, but I had never heard our seven-year-old try to re-tell it on his own. We only read the full account of Jesus’ death and resurrection once a year; I expected him to get a couple details wrong. Pride welled when he began. Then perfectionism kicked in and disappointment welled when he continued. Not disappointment in my boy—in me and my parenting skills. We use a visual aid called Resurrection Eggs and the carton contains a dozen plastic eggs, each one containing an object to help convey the meaning of Easter. For example, in the orange egg you’ll find praying hands, and the…
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“Your Hard Drive Is Shot”
Writing to you live from the other computer…. Our laptop crashed last week. Took a corner too fast and bam—head on with an innocent user. The low-pitched incessant beep was enough to make me want to smother it in the night, but I still had high hopes it could be restored. After a phone date with a lovely lady from the Apple Genius Bar, she deduced it needed an in-person appointment. So Doug took it to nerd (compliment) number two, who delivered the sad news. “Your hard drive is shot. We can fix it for $425, but in nine months your laptop will be obsolete anyway.” Obsolete? It’s only six…
