Remind Me

Remind me that I feel better when I do this.

Remind me that everything is improved with a trip outside.

Remind me that the world is more bright and lovely midday when I step into the grass rather than tuck my toes under on the couch.

Remind me that all I have to do – ALL I have to do – is to get out of the way. To be silent and wonder. To ask the question and wait. To not turn my somersaults of confusion and anxiety trying to twist myself into already knowing what I do not yet know. To not justify my every action when they are all wrong because the only right one is to listen.

Remind me that it cannot all be mine, but look at what is.

Remind me that I would be overwhelmed with more anyway.

Remind me that it is the space between: the cool air, the ghost outline of a mostly round moon in the afternoon, the pine needles oddly tinkling like the sound of icicles in the spring breeze, the new baby-green buds born on the old dogwood branches.

Remind me that those trees in my yard have been there long before my comings and goings, my doings and not-doings, and they’ll be there, watching, long after. They are neither joyed nor dismayed by the antics of people in their yard, just observant.

Remind me to be observant, too.

Remind me to rest my face in a half-smile so as not to frown as I concentrate. I want to smile at what I’m considering, because if I’m going to frown, I want to do it on purpose.

Remind me to ask people questions about their lives.

Remind me to not interrupt.

Remind me that the world is spinning, and the ozone, and gravity, and revolution, and isn’t that all amazing when I remember to not take it for granted?

Remind me to stop avoiding what is difficult, because hiding it behind my back just makes it harder to hold.

Remind me to be careful.

Remind me to be purposeful, because so often I am not, and I allow myself the ease of being carried on the momentum of how-things-happen, forgetting that I have options: agency or complacency.

Remind me that “one day” backwards is “day one”.

Remind me that my parents are proud of the adult I’ve become. Remind me that I don’t have to act childlike for them.

Remind me that there is no rush. But also remind me to do a little every day.

Remind me to spend some time cleaning out the dusty old notes, files, boxes, and unused things. Remind me to unclutter my head, too.

Remind me that I want to learn to garden. But that I can start with something familiar like lavender or forsythia, and wait to tackle vegetables another year.

Remind me to keep the pen moving.

Remind me I’ll miss it all when I’m gone: the quiet classroom, the chaos when it’s full. The young minds shooting thoughts out in every unorganized direction like fireworks. Too loud, too scary, too much, and my responsibility to reign all that flash and fire in and make it into a timed, bright show, on schedule and in order.

But I already know that when I look back, I’ll first remember all that color and light and beauty, and I’ll need to be reminded of the slog.


An Exaltation of Larks

I have never quite figured out what I want this blog to be. I know that I am happy with what has been collected here, but I also know that I have been inconsistent, and perhaps that inconsistency comes from a lack of focus for this medium.

I know that I want a space to say that the sky is beautiful today. That the air is clear and fresh, the clouds thin and light, and the blue, generous.

My dear friend, Mike, once gave me a book called “An Exaltation of Larks”, and that is what I saw this morning. I don’t think the birds were actually larks, but the group’s shared lifting felt like an exaltation. A lifting of the heart, on wing, in joy.

I am in it right now. I am deep in the muck of figuring out this new day to day life with Coltrane and Maya and without my traditional day job. And I feel like I am getting somewhere: I am writing most every day, though not so much here; I am trying different forms and different things to say, things for me, not ready to be put out there yet. But I am finding my process.

I am working on house and home, routines with children. These are challenges more often than not. But I am beginning to own it.

And I am happy. I get frustrated, but I see beauty here, and I have never been more grateful and more aware that I have everything I have ever wanted.

I am exalted about our future prospects and the expansion of our lives – the lifting of our selves in joy.


This is what greeted us as we pulled into the neighborhood - we had to pull over and catch it. No filter.
This is what greeted us as we pulled into the neighborhood – we had to pull over and catch it. No filter.

Chapel Hill was hanging out in the high 90’s for far too long, and we needed an escape the hot hot air, so we headed North, to Fries, in the mountains of Virginia, just over the border from North Carolina.

We took Sean’s mom with us. It was Felicity’s first time up at the cabin, and she not only facilitated me reading a book and having writing time (thank goodness for grandparents!) but she managed to read SEVEN books herself. It was that kind of week. One mostly spent just sitting on the porch, enjoying the milder temperatures and doing almost nothing.

We did make a couple of forays out – to the creek off of the New River where Maya sat with Sean on rocks mid-stream, to the wonderful consignment and antique stores in Galax, to the ice cream parlor, and to the grocery store. But that was it.

The cabin has very little phone service and no internet, so it opened up so much space for Maya to learn how to play dominoes, to do puzzles as a family, and to watch The Wizard of Oz with Maya for the first time. She loved it. She is not yet so technologically advanced and jaded that she scoffs at the old production value. It was still magical. Now she requests that I do the “bad witch” voice while she pretends to be Glenda or Dorothy. “I’ll get you, my pretty – and your little dog, too!”

We found pink beginner roller skates at the consignment store and Maya was on the moon. Thereafter, three or four times a day, she would suit herself up in the helmet, knee pads, and pull the skates over her white lace ballet flats and practice going back and forth on the porch. She graduated quickly from needing full support to scooting along on her own.

It has been a long time since the cabin has felt like a getaway for me – I haven’t been able to sit down and read with small children needing my hands, but this time, with more adults than kids, and Maya becoming so independent, it felt like a relaxing break.

Maya trudged, nude, up and down this hill between the cabins all day every day. THAT is vacation.


Nana with Maya


Lola, photo credit: Maya


I had no idea she was taking this. Photo credit: Maya
I had no idea she was taking this. Photo credit: Maya


Nina, photo credit: Maya
Nina, photo credit: Maya


Cole, photo credit: Maya
Cole, photo credit: Maya


June in Pictures (in Mid-July)

She is calling this her “Elsa braid”
She does not like having her picture taken. Most times, it’s a sneak attack on my part.
“Look, Mama, it’s a heart leaf!”
Serious old man at the pool
We weren’t sure who Cole looked like (Maya looks exactly like Sean), until we saw this picture of my sister, Audrey.


I Heart Eighty Degrees

porch Cole

I have no idea what the temperature is outside right now, and it’s still very muggy, but it is well below the high 90s that have blanketed our days in the past few weeks.

There was a big storm last night – the first one to actually spook me in a while – I thought a tree may very well come down on us. The porch door flew open of its own accord; I considered moving into the basement.

But this morning, it was cool in the early hours. I would have rather been sleeping – the storm and a restless baby had left me bereft of the necessary REMs, but Cole and I were up before most others and we swayed with the Ergobaby and coffee on the drenched side porch. Few cars passed by. We could hear frogs from our creek (swamp) and birdsong. It was the first time in a long time that I wanted to be outside. I appreciated that, even as my eyelids pulled down on me.

Now, it is later in the afternoon, and the air is thick and heavy with southern damp, but we are on the screened porch. The rain comes back in short reminder-bursts, seemingly in a steady effort to keep the temperature down and the trees bowing under water’s weight.

Cole is happily, lazily, lounging in a bouncy chair, and I am able to write. He has not approved of being put down the last few days. Maybe I can get ten minutes before he stirs if I set him down asleep; if I’m lucky, I get thirty. It’s as though he struggles with sleep-surrender unless his body touches mine, preferably if I am erect and walking. There is nothing sweeter. Sleep and productivity for me have been staccato.

But now, out of the omnipresent air conditioning, sinking in amidst the swoosh of passing cars, the caws and hoo-hooos (who-whoos?) of large birds, the breath of blown tree limbs, and the intermittent patter of rain, he is soothed: his senses, I imagine, engaged and satisfied beyond what a sound machine provides.


It Takes a Village…

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Yesterday, I took Maya and Cole to a play date at my friend Alys’ house. Our friend Liz was there with her two kids as well. We were all in our birthing class together when pregnant with our first born daughters. Now we each have two kids. Three three-year olds, an almost-two-year old, a newly-one-year old, and now brand new baby Cole. Six kids! We marveled at how much had changed in only three years.

As we were getting shoes on and bags packed up to get ready to go, Alys went outside to help Liz get her kids loaded up in the car. It was just Baldwin (Alys’ almost-two-year old), Maya, and me in the kitchen. I helped Baldwin get down off of a high stool he was on, and Maya said, “You’re the best mommy to everyone, Mommy!”

I melted right there on the spot.

I looked out the window, and I saw Alys starting my car so that it would be cool by the time my kids were ready (it was a 92 degree day), watched her hold the one-year old while Liz got her big kid buckled up, and I said to Maya, “We all help each other. Liz and Alys are the best mommies to everyone also. We are the best because we do it together.”

So so grateful for my wonderful friends and their families; I feel so lucky that our kids will grow up together.

Easing Back In – May in Pictures

To just get myself started again, I am going to ease in by sharing big, beautiful May in pictures. Maybe this can be a new thing – the month in pictures. Nice way to catalogue the memories.

When we moved in to the new house, Maya thrilled in flinging herself against her new big girl bed.
This is her super hero pose



Trying on lipstick
39 weeks and 3 days
39 weeks and 3 days
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North Carolina
The day of...I was mall walking to get things moving...
The day of…I was mall walking to get things moving…

The man of many nicknames is born!

Coltrane Bear Mosher May 9, 2015 (his due date) 9:54 pm 8 lbs, 4 oz 21 inches 1 hour of labor!
'Cole' 'C-Train' 'Bambino Dingo' 'Bam' 'Baby Bear'
‘Cole’ ‘C-Train’ ‘Bambino Dingo’ ‘Bam’ ‘Baby Bear’



My sister, Lily, and her boyfriend, Sam, were here for Cole’s birth and they took Maya to the Museum of Life and Science to give her some special attention after the boy was born.

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Maya took this picture of Uncle Sam and her doll, Megan, in Cole’s carseat

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Auntie Marie and Maya discuss how cool it is to have a brother
Auntie Marie and Maya discuss how cool it is to have a brother

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Sean likes the odd photo apps - but I love this one
Sean likes the odd photo apps 
Maya was reading "Thank You, Bear" to our little Baby Bear
Maya was reading “Thank You, Bear” to our little Baby Bear



Growing tomatoes
Growing tomatoes
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Meeting Uncle Mike Mike
Meeting Uncle Mike Mike




May was truly wonderful.

April 22: Sink

For my “S” day, the students in my 1st period Creative Writing class “voted” that I write a haiku – in full haiku honor: focusing on qualities of ‘nature’ or being, creating an image, an emotion, and an “aha!” moment, but to apply all of that to the humble, man-made sink.

So here goes:


White porcelain dish

takes in water, lets it go:

we have become clean.

A to Z Challenge: This month, I will be writing a haiku (sometimes a senryu – same syllables, not marveling at nature) each day save Sundays for the 26 letters of the alphabet as part of the blogosphere’s A to Z Challenge.

April 17: Only


Only eighteen days

more, ever being pregnant:

Slow down; remember.


A to Z Challenge: This month, I will be writing a haiku (sometimes a senryu – same syllables, not marveling at nature) each day save Sundays for the 26 letters of the alphabet as part of the blogosphere’s A to Z Challenge.

April 16: New Season


Breathing in and out:

chartreuse. The green, bright and new,

Speaks freshly of warmth.

Photo credit and idea comes from my cousin, Joni Bowman. Thanks for the inspiration, Joni!




A to Z Challenge: This month, I will be writing a haiku (sometimes a senryu – same syllables, not marveling at nature) each day save Sundays for the 26 letters of the alphabet as part of the blogosphere’s A to Z Challenge.