Cabbage Leaves and Closed Doors

I’m going out on a limb here and sharing a poem I recently wrote. Until this poem, I hadn’t written anything in years. Writing poetry used to be ingrained in me, almost a habit I couldn’t break. And then I did. Somewhere along the way, I stopped writing, and I hate that it happened. It’s a practice, like anything else, but something I want to do. I need to do. To write. Slowly, surely, it will come back again. For now, this is what I have to offer. Cabbage Leaves and Closed Doors, for Martin, my sugar lump his back,
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Confessions from a Recovering Pack Rat

My grandparents were pack rats. I blame it on them. It’s possible my mother could have been a pack rat except that my father is neat as a pin (where did this saying come from?), so she has not been allowed to collect things except in her sewing room. Maybe the vice skipped a generation. Either way, I’ve got it, and Tyler doesn’t force me to get rid of things as he struggles with the same issue, so we’re a hopeless case of clutter and fuss.   Not only am I physically cluttered, but I also internally hold on to
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Sugar-Free Stomach

Quick Note: This might get TMI for some of you. So read on if you’re interested in a dissection of my boy’s gut from birth to present. For as long as I can remember, literally since he was born, E has struggled with lactose. They call it lactose intolerance, though he’s never been properly diagnosed. His father is lactose intolerant, so when problems quickly arose after E’s birth, I assumed it was from the copious amounts of milk I was drinking. I would drink a glass or two a day. I probably drank skim milk back then, and not the
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Not Girly, but Feminine

I’m not a girly girl. I never have been, but for years I wanted to be one. I envied all things girly girl, but not anymore. Don’t think I hate girly girls. I don’t. Actually, if anything, I respect them. I don’t know how they do it with matching accessories, jewelry, and lipstick for every outfit. Their manicured hands and pedicured feet are lovely, and a sweet smell always encircles them. So many are incredibly sweet, and I’ve felt loved so many times because of their kindness and etiquette. I am absolutely serious when I say I can’t even imagine
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A Smattering of Sweets

In celebration of E’s 10th Birthday this past weekend, we had sweets for the first time in almost 9 weeks. Ethan wanted mint chocolate milkshakes, and Tyler wanted cake. We settled on both. Friday night we had family birthday time, a joyous celebration of sushi and milkshakes while watching Hook. Then Saturday, we had cake (a Texas Chocolate pan cake with fudge icing my mom made) with extended family and a few friends after all the guys took a man-trip to the NASCAR Hall of Fame. Martin wanted to go but needed a nap, so he stayed home with the
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Governed by the Memoir

I love a good memoir. They’re raw, funny, sad, and real-ish. I say real-ish because memoirs are given more creative liberty than autobiographies. No one actually remembers all of those conversations, and sometimes what we remember isn’t exactly what happened. However, memoirs are based on truth, or at least the truth according to the individual writing it or according to how the individual perceived it as truth. Sounds vague, right? But the thing I love about a memoir, not only me but we as Americans love, is that the memoir is the embodiment of experience. Here in America, we worship
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The Revolving Door

Being in-transit gives everyone the grumpy face. That’s all there is to it. When I lived in Florence, SC, my hometown and a small town of about 45,000 people, we Florentinians used to talk about how Florence was a revolving door type of town, especially for people aged 18-30. People came, stayed a season, and then left again. As a long-time member of the Florence community, the revolving door made things difficult. I always took forever to get to know someone, as I am often tongue-tied and awkward with new people. By the time I would start to really love
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We Quit Sugar – Week 8

This is supposed to be the celebratory “we’ve accomplished our goal” post. We are celebrating, and we are excited it is been eight weeks without sugar, but this isn’t a celebratory post like an end of the school-year party. I’m not writing this to say we did it, we’re done, and welcome back sugar. I’m writing this to say we’ve started a journey and made it eight weeks thus far. We will have many, many more weeks without sugar. I’m really proud of Ethan and Tyler. They’ve both been troupers through this whole ordeal, especially Ethan. I would have never
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We Quit Sugar – Week 7

One more week until we’ve successfully completed our 8-week sugar detox! Time has moved so quickly. It seems as though we just started this experiment, and yet it’s almost as though it’s been part of our lives for a long time. Isn’t that how life works? Quick stat report: I’m down a few more pounds to below what I was when I got pregnant with Martin. I still have some to lose in order to be able to fit into all of my clothes, but I’m getting there. Exercise is super important, and I have more energy and am happier
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But I Don’t Want Cake

I’m really starting to consider what it means for my life if we quit sugar forever. Obviously we’ll come in contact with some every now and then when we’re out because it’s almost impossible not to. Tyler and I are really thinking we won’t have any around the house though, and I’ll keep cooking and exploring life without it. My biggest question and reservation right now is, “What if I don’t want cake on my birthday?” I know it sounds silly, but it’s a legitimate concern. For my whole entire life, all 28.5 years, I’ve had some type of cake
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