not what we expected

It's 4:30 a.m. and I'm sitting on the couch with Elliott who's getting his fix of peanut butter toast and Mr. Bean. Although he still requires a blankie, struggles to form answers to open-ended questions and says many of his words like he has marbles in his mouth, I have never met a five year old who enjoys and understands humor like Elliott. He sees nuances even most adults might miss. For a long time I thought it was a fluke, that somehow he was just made to laugh at most anything.

When Elliott was nearly two, a neurologist ordered blood draws to test for some of the most severe genetic conditions. She was deeply concerned that our non-talking, non-walking boy was never going to progress beyond the intellectual level of a three year old. The tests, of course, were negative, but the dread of that suspected diagnosis has never fully lifted.

Two weekends ago I pulled out a take-home project from school - a pumpkin his kindergarten teacher suggested we decorate at home and send back to hang in the classroom. I got out some stickers and markers and urged Elliott to do something to the pumpkin. We worked quickly as I knew Elliott would lose interest after a sticker or two and I'd have to restrain myself from decorating the pumpkin myself. When I could see he was finished, I suggested we write his name and I put a marker in his hand and held it in mine.

"No," he said adamantly. "I do by self."

"Okay," I shrugged, expecting a couple little lines and scribbles on the paper.

Instead, Elliott slowly and deliberately wrote out his name, all by himself.

I am embarrassed to admit that name writing, like reading and thoughtfully answering questions, is something I have doubted my son might ever be able to do. Which, I suspect, is the reason I cried when the last T was crossed.

Only God knows what each one of us is capable of. And I am humbled to have the great privilege of witnessing one child becoming so much more than we ever expected.

the best thing about working is not working

After four consecutive days with some of the people I love most in this world, I am reminded of one of the great benefits of having a job: Time off is nothing short of heavenly. It is difficult not to fully appreciate being together when most of the time you are apart. It is difficult not to soak up every moment in the beautiful natural world when most of the time you're inside sitting at a desk. It is also difficult to go back to a working life. But, alas, a day of not working will come again. I can hardly wait.

the beauty of a filter

I brought our camera to the lake this weekend but I never unpacked it. I've been too enamored with the Instagram app and the filters that can be applied to photos taken with the iPhone. In my mind's eye, the filters make each image warmer and truer. Like I'm seeing through something two-dimensional to something so beautifully multifaceted, something living and breathing. Like I'm capturing what is most essential about each moment. Like everything is precious.

Spending a long weekend in a house with fifteen family members requires its own kind of filter. Sisters and brothers, parents and in-laws, nieces and nephews. There was work to be done—path mulching and wood chopping, porch vacuuming and dock scrubbing, boat launching and screen washing. There were big meals to prepare and clean up. There were discussions that got a little heavy. Like most families, we don't all agree on the same politics or theology. And we're all a little stubborn and opinionated. But we like each other. A lot. And we like to be with each other. A lot.

So we apply a filter. We still debate and discuss challenging topics. But we do it remembering that the person in front of us is not two-dimensional but so beautifully multifaceted. That what is essential in the moment is not winning the argument or being right, but recognizing that a close-knit family you can laugh with and play with and raise your kids with is something precious. And that, in the end, everything is best viewed through the lens of love.

the blips that come and go so quickly

“In the end, what affect your life most deeply are things too simple to talk about.”
―Nell Blaine

photo booth

Recently Elliott discovered a new program on our home computer called Photo Booth. He adores it because it's just like a mirror. And anyone who knows Elliott, knows this boy loves a mirror. He may be delayed in most areas, but he is quite advanced when it comes to comedic expression. Improv, standup, slapstick. He can make a million different faces. And crack himself up, which is why we're really not worried much about him. Even if academics and life skills don't come easy, it's comforting to know he doesn't need much to make himself happy.

30 beautiful hours in wisconsin

My fabulous sister Liz turned 30 last week and her husband flew her halfway across the country so she could celebrate with her immediate family this weekend. The sixteen of us spent two unseasonably mild October days on the lake, catching frogs, wading in the water, carving pumpkins, walking in the woods, playing cards, eating great meals and simply relishing each other's company.

Had anyone told my nine-year-old self, enduring the saddest days of my life in the wake of my parent's breakup, that my family would someday be an exceptionally beautiful, loving, life-giving home, I never would have believed it. Now I know. There are gifts that far outweigh the losses. And, despite what you may think in a time of grief, anything can be redeemed.

beautiful three day

We had a million things to do this weekend. But we didn't. There's five yards of mulch in the driveway, five baskets of laundry in the closet and five years of household projects we're behind on. But instead, our weekend held the season's first pie, a rainy afternoon of reading and cuddling on the porch, surprisingly wonderful dinner parties, and a whole day of hanging with the world's most awesome neighbors while Elliott bounced with his best girl Mia.


Tomorrow I will pay for the work I didn't do, but I'll smile as I haul the load of wine bottles to the curb and remember the beautiful people we entertained and enjoyed. And the happiest, bounciest boy in town.


Because there will always be a million things to do. But only one beautiful three day like this.

as if

:: to help plan our gardens


:: because the local Borders was closing


:: oh, how I love you, library


:: the ones I keep coming back to


:: only three book clubs


:: just a couple things I plan to make


:: for cuddling up with a first grader


:: inspiration for the book I'm going to write - yes, write! just as soon I get all these books read, of course. ;)

how many ways can you wear a paper plate?

:: antenna


:: wings


:: yarmulke


:: ventilator


:: nose


:: eyebrows


:: facepatch


:: jowls


:: muzzle


:: ears


:: mouth

Thanks to my good friend Tammy Caltagirone for being in the moment and capturing these awesome shots of my son creatively entertaining himself with a paper plate during his dad's student recital.