really, there is nothing more to add. More snow to come this weekend. Please join me in praying for continuous power and access to Minecraft. And Netflix. The Winter that Nearly Killed All the Moms. Advertisements
I shouldn’t share my obsession so publicly, I know. But seriously? Swoon…
In which I ponder what I might tell my 18 year old self. If I steer clear of grandiose, deep and meaningful (ha ha!) generalizations and stick to the personal, I just might be able to pull this off without my fingers sticking to the keyboard from all the syrupy-sweet-gooeyness.
Ladies and gentlemen, straight from the ballroom at the Madison Hotel, site of the 30th reunion of the Class of 1983… I happily present to you the witty,wonderful writing stylings of one Lizzie Crestview, formerly of the pseudonomymous blogging duo Lizzie and Jane
Between this anniversary, Thing the Elder turning 12, and my recent high school reunion (30 years! that is another “how the hell can that be true?” realization) I’ve been thinking a lot about time, and time passing.
This past weekend was my THIRTIETH high school reunion. I didn’t think I was the reunion type, whatever that means. I still don’t.
Everyone has their own way of telling their own story. There are ways to not color in the lines while in plain sight of those lines. Someone’s story might really surprise you or scare you, make you laugh. If you have rules to follow, do so in your own style. But where does it come from?
I’m still plugging along with NaBloWriMo, (National Blog Writing Month -31 posts in 31 days) and this is my 8th post. It is an Easy Way Out post, definitely a bit of a cop out, and I’m ok with that! Let’s talk about my Tumblr. It’s too often neglected. For long periods of time. …
Here comes the part where my parenting skills took a dive. I knew what was coming, and with a certain amount of disbelief (she’s only 8!) I was also a little amazed and amused because I know what we are in for with this child… I smirked. Not a full blown grin, but nonetheless, I smirked. I wasn’t exactly proud of her. But here’s more proof that she is, after all, my daughter.
It’s fall and I’m ruminating over my favorite season, the possibility each fall brings, and the start of a new year. I know that technically, we celebrate the New Year on January 1. My personal internal clock shifts into new year mode every autumn. The thing that best represents all of this to me is a newly opened, yet unused box of crayons.