hgoodman

I swore it would never happen. I would not get involved in women’s ministry. After all, I’m egalitarian. I’m not always sure we need a separate women’s ministry, as if women can and should minister only to other women, as if women can and should connect only with other women simply because we are women. Historically, I believe women’s ministry rose out of necessity: it gave women a place to learn and it gave women a place to serve, to use their teaching gifts in a church culture where they... Read Full Story

I’m a big fan of eyeballing things. If God gave me two eyeballs, what other tools could I need? A leveler? Eyeball it. It’s straight enough. (This could explain why guests get seasick walking down my hallway where photos line the wall.) A teaspoon? Eyeball it (and if it’s vanilla, add another teaspoon or so). A ruler? Eyeball it. It’s long enough. (Or centered enough.) My motto: close enough for jazz. Just don’t open my closets. (Also, I once had a pie come out so, well, fluid-y that we... Read Full Story

The past couple of days, Keegan’s been refusing to nurse, and I didn’t know how this would break my heart. Sure, he could be teething, and perhaps he’ll resume, but he could also be done. I had no warning. I thought I’d have more time to watch how he watches me, how he plays with my hair (pulls, yanks, strips it from my head) while nursing, how I cuddle him close to me, how he sometimes falls asleep. And this is motherhood: little goodbyes as they grow up and start walking then start... Read Full Story

Since it’s 1:00 in the morning and I can’t sleep–the reason that I can’t sleep isn’t important (thank you, insurance company of man who rear-ended my husband and son, and may a camel spit in your eye)–and tomorrow will be miserable because of this lack of sleep and I’m not working on my teaching as I should be because I told Chris that if I committed to teaching this semester I’d have at least three, no four, lessons done before we started and I haven’t started on next week’s lesson and next... Read Full Story

A recent conversation: Chris (to Keegan): You’re doing so good, my boy! Me: So well . Chris: Your mom doesn’t want me to teach you how to speak normal. Me: Normal ly . I realize I’m throwing Chris under the bus here, but it made me laugh, this and conversations like it in which I attempt to use correct grammar so that we may teach our son when to say “to whom” and when to say “who,” when to use “I” and “me,” the difference between an adverb and an adjective. Not to use “literally... Read Full Story

The music plays, and Keegan dances. He dances to Tchaikovsky and Veggie Tales. He dances to jazz and to Kid’s Praise. He dances to his maracas. He dances to the jingles on his toys. He dances to the motor of the blender and to the click of the refridgerator. To Keegan, everyday sounds aren’t random noises; they’re music. And music calls for dancing. Perhaps influenced by John Cage (best known for his 4’33” piece) or the composers of musique concrete , Keegan rejoices in the sounds around... Read Full Story

I dreamed last night that I blogged. Who says you can’t make your dreams come true? Rather than offer up the repetitious excuses of why I’ve been tacit here, I thought I’d spend the time reveling in my favorite time of year: Christmas. I’ve always loved Christmas. I turn into this sentimental sap, and I confess, my tastes can go a bit Norman Rockwell for the month. I eat up all the ABC Family Christmas movies (not to mention the old standards like White Christmas, Rudolph, and now, Elf... Read Full Story

I recounted to a friend the other day my background with writing. Not the resume, the stories and articles published, the conferences and workshops attended or the awards won, but the whys and wherefores. The ones before my husband told me I should do this thing. I remembered a writing conference my English teacher took me to in junior high. The teacher, a published writer whose name I’ve long since forgotten, gave us a writing prompt: here I sit. We could take this anywhere. We could look... Read Full Story

Prepared to write about how art is communal, a disappointing experience with art and the community I love made me think instead about how art can sometimes rent us apart. But all is not lost, for this is community–beautiful and hurtful–and so, this is art. Afterwards, as we cleaned dishes and wrapped up the particularly sad lemon cake, my friend and I wondered how you can talk about something so personal without it being personal, without it hurting when you disagree on something that... Read Full Story

During the two hour-long (optimistically speaking) naps Keegan (sometimes) takes, I try to fit in: prep for teaching I’ll be doing beginning in January editing work I recently acquired (yay for paying gig!) the housework I refuse to do when Keegan’s awake like cleaning toilets because the last thing I need is for Keegan to start playing on or in the toilet (he discovered a couple of weeks ago the joy of unrolling the toilet paper) dinner prep if it requires more than the half hour... Read Full Story