Moving is hard. That first week is the worst.   I arrive, my boxes explode all over the place, my new house creaks and squeeks at odd hours of the night, and I realize that if something happens there is absolutely no one I know to call.   It’s scary.  Added to that, if (hypothetically) I move into intern housing the weekend of the fourth of July, all my housemates will be visiting their families and I’ll be completely alone.

That moment when I finally force myself to go to bed is always a battle of faith vs. fear.  God is still on his throne and I am His so I’m not any safer where I am than if I was tucked up in my room at home with Daddy and his gun collection down the hall.  Do I really believe that?

Of course, I’m still alive.  Nothing bad happened before the other interns got back and I’ve realized that this creaky, creepy house is actually beautiful, spacious, antique, and full of cheerful windows and sunshine.  I’ve discovered that as miserable as moving is, invariably after one week (almost to the hour) I take a deep breath and decide that life is pretty good still and that I kind of like where I am.

Published in: on September 3, 2011 at 2:41 pm  Leave a Comment  


I’ve been contemplating the perfection of eggs lately as I strive to attain perfection in my method of cooking eggs.  They’re good for you, they’re cheap, they take minutes to fry, and they taste so, so good in the morning.   I do believe I have achieved fried egg perfection exactly three times.  The perfect egg is sunny side up, cooked on low heat (covered), and yanked off the minute the whites firm up all the way across the yolk.  I’ve tweaked my method to ensure there are zero slimy, not-quite-done whites (ew).   To quote Mom, “Delicious, nutritious, and beautiful.”

Published in: on June 20, 2011 at 10:53 pm  Leave a Comment  

Reflections on balls, weddings, and other formal events

Fairy godmother?   That’s me!  (In camo capris and a hoodie no less) Forget the magic wand, I’ve got a mascara wand.

I’ll admit that sometimes, after being your fairy godmother for too long, I feel like this:

My feet start to hurt, I lose things like my last five bobby-pins and my eyeshadow brush, I get overly critical of my work and wonder if you’d have been better off without my help, curse words begin to leak out over an emergency hemming project, and worst of all I feel so left out when everyone is finally ready and whisks away full of happy expectation and I’m left alone in the midst of preparation aftermath.

But the truth is, when I’m not being cranky, I love being your fairy godmother.

I would gladly stand on my feet for another hour doing painstaking eyeliner, just to see your eyes light up when you look in the mirror.  My vanished lipgloss and safety pins are a small price to pay for the look on your face that says you know you’re beautiful.

The genuine blood, sweat, and tears soaking the threads of those last-minute dress alterations are oh, so willingly given.  Those stitches say, “I love you” and I like thinking that somehow you’re surrounded and covered by my care while you dance and laugh.

I don’t even mind that you couldn’t wear the veil I made for you because it got left at the house the day of the wedding.  If I could go back in time, I would make it for you all over again just to see  how you smiled into the mirror the first time I pinned it over your pretty blond hair.

One day that spark in your eye that says, “I’m lovely,” will be permanent.  You’ll be called up from your grave and every blemish, and every hurt, and every insecurity will be banished.  God will say, “beautiful,” and this time it will be final.  You’ll even believe him.

Until then, I’ll gladly be your fairy godmother just for that brief glimpse of eternity in your eyes.  Just to see you smile.

Published in: on June 17, 2011 at 3:44 pm  Comments (1)