Good things come in small packages, so goes the cliché, and this week the small packages included two kids with lots and lots of dirty tissues. I should have picked up on the red flags hitting me in the face when my daughter began her typical deconstruction of events.

First, there was the academic question:

“Mom, are you sure we can’t feel the earth’s rotation on its axis?” (i.e., I’m dizzy as hell.)

Then, the philosophical question:

“If I am sweating like crazy, but I am not exercising, am I still sweating?”

(i.e., I am burning up a wicked fever; please oh please shove a thermometer in my mouth, mother.)

And finally, the biggest signal of them all, the culinary question:

“Do I have to eat something?”

(i.e., if you …Read on

Next Wednesday marks my twelfth year married to my husband, and, our cheesy Hallmark-card infatuation with each other still burns strong. Sure, he sort of snores at night (not that loud, outright snore, but the low, gurgling snuffle that spontaneously darts into high peaks waking me in a panic), but I forgive him this (or just kick him out of the room) because we all have our faults, and I’ll gladly live with his for the benefits his company brings. Still, within all our love and devotion there lies a gap. Huge, silent, and very deep, it sits like a sinking hole, quietly threatening all harmony in our relationship. The culprit to our animosity is the cucumber and it has created a great divide. One would normally not place such power on the making or …Read on

The other day I was in the supermarket’s produce section buying some leeks. An older woman approached me and very cautiously asked me, “What is that?” referring to the two robust bulbs I held in my hand. The question caught me off guard. For a second, I couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. “These are leeks,” I replied, very matter-of-factly.”Leeks?” she said, the word clearly rolling off her tongue for the first time. “And what do you do with those?”These are the moments where I dive into my own personal world of self-pity, revisiting my self-appointed tragedy as the urbanite trapped in a suburban universe where leek cluelessness reigns. There are so many positive reasons to live in the ‘burbs, of course: the great schools, pretty parks, and safe and quiet environment, and, …Read on

It was a subtle and quiet operation worthy of a Navy SEAL’s praise. Many players where involved: my sister, my children, my sister-in-law. The target: me. I, as with most things, remained clueless, except for the one moment on the phone when I had suggested I take the weekend to visit my dear friend Gayla and her baby and my husband had cautiously recommended we wait until he get home from his trip to “discuss ” it. Those of you who know Yeshua know he is too impulsive to discuss anything. A more fitting response would have been “Sure, yes! Go!” So, I did find it odd that he said that, but, just as quickly as I questioned his response, I forgot it, moving on to homework duties, dinner, doctor appointments and …Read on

I am by nature a soup luncher. I blame it on my father. He sought out soups as the springboard to all his lunches, which, living in South America, always consisted of a full course meal of meat, sides, and salad, followed by a chaser of homemade lemonade. But soup always came first and always, just as he insisted, piping hot. He’d then proceed to slurp it with such delight, deft, and agility that always left me mesmerized. I don’t know how he did it, but I’d just be starting to decipher the flavors of that broth when he’d be done with it. Lunchtime here is another era. I am usually alone, usually running between errands or writing stories, always knowing that soon I will begin picking up my kids and my role as …Read on