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Showing posts from 2018

My thankful post

Thanksgiving is tomorrow . . . WHAT?! Time continues to get weirder as I age.   (It sounds as if I’m calling myself old in that last sentence. I’m not. 35 is still totally young. Right?)   Time is moving so quickly I feel I can hardly keep up. But here we are, and as I was reflecting earlier on what I’m thankful for this year, I decided I wanted to share it. I’m thankful for a whole lot, but I’ll break down the big things here: First – The number one spot always has to go to God, my creator and the one whose grace sustains me even on the worst of days. My life is His, my hope rests in Him and He is so, so good.   Second – my husband, Michael, of course! We started dating in 2004, were married in 2008, had our first baby in 2009 and five more by 2015.   He is the hardest worker that I know (literally as I type this- he is working a double overtime shift for our family.) He is still my favorite person.   He is the best Dad – I keep saying I’m going to write about that,

I’ll just be vulnerable for a minute.

Because writing can be therapeutic.   Because Anne Lamott told me I could. Because I’m equal parts sad and angry right now.   No, more angry than sad. I’m also a little envious, and I know that envy is bad.   Really bad.   But if you have a mother that you have a good or even decent relationship with, I’m a little jealous right now. I’m also frustrated.   And at a loss.   And sharing this if I get brave enough because WHY? I don’t know yet. I can find solidarity with others, maybe? Someone will have a magic answer on what to do? I AM THE DAUGHTER OF AN ADDICT.   There.   I said it.   I never wish to share this.   I never wish to say negative things about the woman who birthed me.   And here we are . . . This addict had open-heart surgery on October 11 th .   Oh, she nearly died.   She had to be care-flighted from one hospital in Fort Worth to another in Dallas after a torn aorta was discovered.   It was rough, and she ended up having a second surgery, but she

On death and what matters

This past Saturday my family and I drove from Austin to Lubbock for my husband’s paternal grandfather’s funeral. Jerry and Henrietta Decker Now, what I personally knew of Grandpa Decker is that he gave big, strong bear hugs every single time I saw him, and that he had a kind smile on his face when he would watch my children – his great-grandchildren – run around and play.   What I knew of him from my husband, is that he was a hard-working man who found the time and energy to play with my husband and his siblings when they would come and visit him as children, even after a long day of farming. This hard work I mentioned – Grandpa Decker farmed cotton.   It was undeniably hard work and he had a work ethic that has been inherited by his children and his grandchildren.   I’ve always said that one of the first traits I was attracted to upon meeting my husband was his drive.   My husband is still the most hard-working man I know, but more than that – he is grateful for hi

On Turning 35

My birthday is next week and something about turning 35 feels different enough to warrant a blog post, so here we are. The much younger me. I have to start with saying how excited I am.   I know each year is a gift and to have (nearly) 35 so far – wow! I feel incredibly grateful.   I don’t mind aging.   Really! (It turns out, however, that I don’t necessarily love all of the effects of aging, so for the time being I’ll continue covering my grays with highlights.) I’ve loved my 30’s so far.   I love them much more than my 20’s. Don’t get me wrong – my 20’s hold some of my greatest memories and I’m thankful for that decade too.     I served in the Navy, joined the Catholic Church, married my husband, and became a mother.   I also ran the first of what has now been five half-marathons and began writing the book that would make me a published author.   That decade was pretty sweet to me, come to think of it. But in my 20’s I wasn’t always so good to myself.   I let the

A day in the life of this writing mom (in summer)

It’s July, and of course this means that all of my children are home with me every day due to summer break from school. I actually love summer.   I really do.   I’m a Native Texan, and I’m accustomed to the heat (it’s crazy but I honestly prefer our hot summers to winter, any day) and I also really enjoy the quality time with my kids.   Oh, don’t get me wrong, it isn’t all rainbows and butterflies, of course.   My kids do their fair share (and then some) of fighting, whining and pressing on my nerves.   BUT there are times that feel like pure magic, too.   Like when they all line up at the pool and jump in together, laughing after coming up from the water.   Or when I watch them all play duck-duck-goose on the trampoline.   Or when I hear them telling jokes to one another, and hear the belly laughs that come with each (the boys are always joking about poop. And more poop. These jokes never get old to them.) So. How do I fit my writing life into this busy summer life with my kid

How my kids HELP my writing productivity

This blog post is not a joke.   Seriously.   I’m going to explain the ways my children actually help me with my writing endeavors. Sure, I could write about all of the ways my children hinder the process – my youngest daughter is literally sitting on my lap as I type – but I don’t really need to tell you that, do I? It’s common knowledge that even one child takes up a lot of time.   And I have six.   Free time is a thing of my past. My view while typing today.  I have a shocking revelation, however, that I wish to share now – my children have actually helped me with my writing.   It’s true.   Here’s how: They have taught me (and are teaching me daily) about patience. And let me tell you, writing a book takes a lot of patience. My biggest teacher of patience by far has been parenting.   I’ve found that the wearisome moments of putting a toddler back to bed after she’s gotten out for the ninth time, or watching my kindergartner spend ten minutes trying to tie one shoe