My young son’s proclivity for nasal probing brought to light a very metaphysical realization: Most of us are now living awkwardly in the world of Kairos.
Don't get me wrong, my kids all adore camping. They love the campfire, the tent, the sleeping bags, the stories and the snuggles, but at no point in the idyllic, headlamped reading of Mo William's newest stroke of pre-school genius do my husband or I ever assume that we will get a sufficient amount of sleep that night.
On a blazing hot Friday afternoon, I pulled up at my oldest son’s elementary school on my sweet ride- an old, green, Trek bike, aka the Grocery-Getter. I was towing the two younger siblings in a much newer, blue, Burley trailer which I would never have been able to afford if it wasn’t for those... Continue Reading →
A version of this piece was published on OutdoorProject.org in July, 2019. You know what’s great about Recreation.gov? It’s just so dang pretty. It’s got those neat, friendly-looking calendars that let you see which campsites you can still reserve exactly 45 seconds after the permits became available and exactly two minutes before they’re all gone.... Continue Reading →
You know that moment when your five-year-old had soaked his pants and gloves falling in an icy puddle but then had to go emergency number 2 in a port-a-potty which you couldn't go vet for him because you were holding a one-year-old in a snow suit who touches everything and the three-year-old over by the... Continue Reading →
After I’d lived in Colorado for two years and had reached the ripe old age of 21, I figured I was a goddamn adult. During an extended visit back to my parents’ house, there was a gathering of friends and acquaintances from the church in which I grew up. Through my somewhat inflated sense of... Continue Reading →
Fun fact, 'kids' are a four letter word. I wanted to share what happened immediately after I hit 'publish' on my first-ever, high adventure, carefully worded, all grown-up blog post. Literally the moment after my finger left the track pad, I rushed a crying toddler to the potty, then came back to change a poopy... Continue Reading →
I was 23 years old the first time I heard my dad say the word "shit." We were standing on a beach by the Colorado River as it wound through the sandstone spires and impossible black rock of Eastern Utah. Sunset had finally brought the temperature under 100 degrees as I showed my father how... Continue Reading →