never fully-clothed or intentionally misinforming

You have to look at the photo. As horrific and unfathomable as it is, you have to look at it. That is Aylan. He has a brother, Ghalib; a mother, Rehan; and a father, Abdullah. And Abdullah is the only one alive. And what's worse, he was holding his baby boys when they died, from drowning, while fleeing the home for refuge in Europe and eventually Canada. You have to look at the photo because this family and the thousands, millions actually, who have also fled and not found their way into our Newsfeed deserve to be heard, to be honored, and to be protected. These are humans just as we are -- people who are willing to risk life and limb to get their babies to some place better, even if just a fraction better, and even if it involves great risk to get them there. There are husbands pushing wives and children onto railways because it is a better option than going back to their home countries. There are thousands, absolute droves of people, fleeing from Budapest to Vienna... on foot

When I think about the person I was five(ish) years ago, I think fondly back. I loved myself. I was loving, carefree, smart, in touch, and adventurous. Here's the thing - everything I knew about myself five years ago is gone. I am not the same person. And I'm carrying much, much more baggage. So I have started doing some reading. I'm reading everything I can about getting that beautiful simplicity back. And I started to realize, society as a whole has a negative opinion of simplicity. Think 'simple-minded,' 'simpleton' and the like. It seems, in our culture, the more complicated - the more smothered, the more covered life is, the better.  What's so wrong with appreciating the quiet perspective of not having any major stresses? I have decided there isn't a single thing wrong with it. And I have resolved to find my own simple pace and existence.  There's this sort of balance that'll be required of me though; I work a full-time, fair

I read something recently that moved me to think about the true value of sentiment. It has become commonplace to snag a souvenir or a momento to help document our experiences with friends. Sometimes a photo just doesn't do the trick. Photos are another essay all together. We take so many photos, but what really ever happens to all of them? Does anyone keep an album anymore? Sentimental value. What defines it? What is the measure? And what do we do with it eventually? Well, eventually we forget why we have the momento. Sometimes it just becomes another trinket on the shelf. And when that happens, yet you know you got it for a reason - to commemorate a moment - what do you do? I've been thinking a lot about purging the rooms of our house. I say rooms because I have a plan to do one room at a time - seems to me it would be easier to feel accomplished if I do it this way. But the fear of tossing something with sentimental value holds me back sometimes.

My son is two months old already. His life is already going by faster than I care to acknowledge.  When I look at him, usually when he is laying at my breast, fully satiated and half asleep, I think of all the ways I am afraid I will one day let him down. Hell, it has already started. I wanted so desperately to exclusively breastfeed my baby. I both admire and resent the women who do this, the women whose babies have never met a baby bottle. In my realm, it is just not possible.  The first time I put a bottle to his lips, I wept. I looked into his sad eyes and felt heartache and disappointment transfer from him to me in that exchange. How could a mother give up on breastfeeding?  How could I expect my infant son to understand and process the logic of providing a bottle to satisfy his hunger if I couldn't do the same? And what if it wasn't hunger? What if his tears were the ones that meant he needed to be held and to nurse from his mother for comfort, not susten

What are we up to on a random Tuesday night, you ask? Oh, ya know, taking in a ska show. My amazing husband knows how I like to spend my free time... And his. Thank you,  Jon-Michael . Hope you're okay with your son being a ska kid - right now he has no choice. This is how we celebrate 8.5 months pregnant in our family. Last week, at our 37 week check up with our midwife, Libby, we gained her blessing to attend a ska show in Orlando. We had done our homework though and presented a very well-thought-out case. We knew where the closest hospital was, we had my hospital bag packed and in tow, we had already agreed I would not be floor-level or engaged with the crowd, and I would do absolutely no jumping. That last commitment was the hardest, to be perfectly honest. How do I not jump to songs that practically beg it of you?! So after work on Tuesday, JM and I headed down to House of Blues. After walking around the venue for just a couple of minutes, we were able to find a pie

It's interesting how reading one article about the common struggles of sleeping while pregnant will reaffirm my sentiment of being incredibly fortunate these last eight and a half months. In the beginning everyone who heard me say I wasn't having any difficulties with nausea or sleep would tell me, ' just you wait...' At this point though, I'm practically across the finish line and haven't encountered one single, solitary time when I thought I'm not going to make it through the day without vomiting , or I've been laying in bed for three hours and still haven't slept; I might as well get up for the day ... at 2 AM. No, I'm truly fortunate. And you know, I hope that's a sign of a healthy, happy baby - and maybe, if it's not too much to ask, even one who will sleep through the night from the first night he's home. We'll see. I'm certainly not trying to press my luck. One thing I am struggling with though is my inability to be f