The Cup

Wars between our children start over the simplest things.  They begin with the breaking of treaties between siblings and the shattering of the peace. Usually by way of insult, such as "Your face is a gray fart."  From there, things move swiftly to hand-to-hand combat, with the slapping and pounding of opponent's flesh with open hands and closed fists....

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Sugar and Demons

The littles attended a Halloween festival this past weekend at their grandparents' seasonal campground. The festivities were replete with ill-fitting costumes, camper-to-camper panhandling for candy, a Haunted Hayride and the kind of late-night engorgement of sugar that always leads to arm-flailing rage. By the parents. Why, you ask, would they have Halloween in August?...

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Good Robin Hunting

                                 Perhaps the most provocative post I read this week regarding the suicide of Robin Williams came from a friend who wrote: Breaking news: The death of Robin Williams is causing America...

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We Together, Him And I, You and I, Have Truth

Lately, I've been forced to mine the past in order to make sense of the present. This is a game the mind plays on those faced with the mortality of someone they care about. It goes something like this: to reckon with the end of someone, the mind works feverishly to anchor that someone to a place in time relative to ourselves. Maybe it's a desperate grasping to feel solid ground beneath our feet at a time when the surreality of the situation...

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The Show Must Go On

Every Friday is devoted to a collection of things heard and seen over the past week that I find amusing, poignant, or embarrassing. I could probably cultivate these tidbits into separate posts, but then what would be the fun in that? Everybody likes lists. Friday Fragments is my end-of-week list for your utter enjoyment. In the run-up to next week's opening night...

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Night of the Attack of the Flying Chinchilla Squirrel Thing!

Gabrielle was an infant the night we were attacked by a flying squirrel. Now, listen. I'm not afraid of snakes, spiders, moths or bees. But rodents wig me out. I can't tell you why. There's just something not to trust about small, four-legged fury things that can out-run a car and have beady little evil eyes. This story will live in infamy in the Turner house. It's...

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Careful What You Slap People For

Sitting next to Maren is highly coveted in our home, and the privilege to do so can be as treacherous to my children as it once was for those who sought to be on the right side of emperors and kings. My children will kill each other in order to sit next to her. Maren is merely 6 weeks old. She can't talk, turn her head very well, or reach out with any reasonably deliberate dexterity to hold your hand, and yet she's treated as the Crown Princess....

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