I remember it was morning. Or, I think it was morning. Was it morning?  Time is a very fluid and abstract concept during those early days of motherhood. Nights and days sort of spill unto each other. The passing hours, minutes, and seconds seem to tumble into one giant melting pot, boiling them down to utter ...

Every once in awhile, when life starts to feel a little too melodramatic, the universe chucks a giant meteor into my atmosphere. It comes at me with such velocity that it shakes me to the core and forces me to look beyond my insulated, egocentric bubble.   Last week, the meteor was a photo---a single snapshot of a little boy. A ...

Right now, at this very moment, I'm losing my beautiful baby boy.   He's fading away---both slowly and suddenly.   Each day, when I walk into his room to greet his giggles and grin, he seems a little taller. A little leaner. And his hair---oh, that hair---once fine and silky like blades of buffalo grass, has now flourished into a ...

If I've learned anything about motherhood so far, it's this:   Motherhood is like a clay sculpture.   The big moments and milestones may define its basic shape, but the real artistry emerges from the trenches---and the minutia---of daily living. The true beauty of motherhood is meticulously molded from hundreds of little moments---those humbling (and often hilarious) acts of day-to-day mothering. After all, ...