Sometimes I cook really good things.

And we go on walks after dinner.

And we collectively cheer the lighter skies as spring approaches.

And look for ice to crunch with our boots.

Sometimes, we go fishing with sticks.

And draw arrows in the snow.

Sometimes we look for poop.  (There's lots of poop to find, and at least a variety of species contribute.)

Sometimes we have chocolate pudding for dessert.

Sometimes we wail and cry into the evening because we can't be wild children forever.

And we lament the loss of the day.


Sometimes my dreams are so intensely emotional they linger with me the whole day long.

Like last night's dream of a little boy who drowned.  Adam and I were leading a group of kids along some tide pools at the ocean, on a coast like at Larrabee park.  A storm came and many of us got separated.  June and Miles had followed a larger boy and Miles was safe.  June was way out of my reach flailing and splashing in water.  I had to swing like a Tarzan-mom, jumping and grabbing on to a rope across a big expanse of air to reach my June who was trying to grab onto an overturned boat.

I got to her and made sure she was safe.  The little boy though, Russ, who had huge apple-y cheeks and stocky build, got lost in the storm.  The story continued in the dream, including how Russ had tried to get away and out of the storm by climbing a tree.  But it was not enough.

And we had to tell his parents.


Sometimes my Dad makes me cry at work by sending me lyrics to songs that are about fatherhood and how much they love their daughters.


This week I plan to post about beekeeping, snowboarding, and things I've created.  Stick around friends!


  1. Hus-man here: Holy cow, i had a dream like that too. I guess we should not start a summer camp at Larrabee.
    I find myself looking for the like button on this post babe. I'm excited for your work.

  2. I love this writing. Beautiful, and haunting, and wonderful. Oh - cooking a good meal and going for afternoon walks. That's super good.

    Sorry I haven't been visiting here as much as I want. I visit - but commenting is fleeting.. (hate not having electricity. I have so many blogging hours!!!).

    Thanks for your sweet words on my blog. It's good to know you're there/here. xxx

    1. Thanks Ellie. It means a lot. I go through phases too but I think I am a permanent reader of your blog. :)

  3. I love this. I love how your blog always inspires me to appreciate little things and make them special. That dream sounds really scary. I wish I could give you a hug and drink some coffee and talk about what it could mean.

    1. I know I already emailed you, but I thought I'd say.. this is about the nicest thing you could say to me. :)

      I wish we could go for coffee too.

  4. Haunting and beautiful post, Amy. I believe dreams are a way for your mind to create scenarios-sometimes scary- and prepare for them.
    I was really moved about the image of your dad sending you song lyrics; wailing and crying into the night (reminding me of Sendak and his Wild Things); and looking for poop. Have you read that book "Everyone poops"? I have wanted a T-shirt with it's images forever. I think your kids would love it!


I always, always, always love comments. (Okay, except maybe not the nasty ones.)


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