Summer respite

Once again, I am going to take the summer off from writing. The last nine months have been full of learning, thinking, and writing. Learning about dyslexia, poverty, and issues of justice. Writing for this blog and for a few others.

My brain and my heart are tired. It is time to germinate rather than produce. My twins will do some tutoring, but beyond that we hope to enjoy slow days of fresh fruit, ice cream cones, and the pool. Evenings of fireflies and fiction reading.

I’ll see you in September! If you want to follow the exploits of my imaginative children, join me on Instagram.

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And, dear readers, don’t forget to answer this question. Your answer may influence what dish I bring when we meet again in September.

 

©2016, Laura Goetsch and Thinking About Such Things.

On Brock Turner, consequences, and purple crayons

Once a month, I meet with an ecumenical group of moms from our elementary school to pray. We pray for the district, the school, the staff, and our kids. We pray for everything we can think of. I always pray that if my kids do something bad that they will get caught. 

This may seem counter-intuitive. Why would I want to get a call from the school that my child has misbehaved? Wouldn’t it be easier if they just got away with it? Continue reading “On Brock Turner, consequences, and purple crayons”

Mystery solved: dyslexia

I decided finally to google it. The answer came as a relief. We had been waiting for a teacher to raise the question, but I had grown tired of waiting.

For two years, my twins had struggled to keep pace with their peers in reading. They were thoughtful, clever, often articulate kids—but matching letters on a page to words you said out loud did not come naturally. We had done all the usual things—talked about letters and sounds, gone to pre-school, read books day and night, practiced writing letters and words, read two books every day in the summer between kindergarten and first grade. Continue reading “Mystery solved: dyslexia”

A question for my readers

I like to follow my fancy wherever it leads, in my life and in my writing. Every Tuesday I put fingers to keyboard, pursuing that day’s whims and reflections.

Because of this, some might say my blog lacks focus. That the effect is something like this:

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The experts, after all, say that you need to choose a niche. That it’s important to figure out where you fit in the landscape of writers and blogs. Continue reading “A question for my readers”

On holiday from sanity

While you were barbecuing and attending parades, Rick and I celebrated Memorial Day weekend by taking a holiday from our sanity.

We let our daughters set up refrigerator boxes in our living room as “houses”—-boxes that they requested and received for Christmas. Since we neither live in a mansion nor have an “open concept living space,” you can imagine the effect:

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Continue reading “On holiday from sanity”

Why I don’t write at home

Every Tuesday—-my writing day—-I go to the same local coffee shop. The tables are numerous, the food delicious, and the coffee adequate. I often run into friends there.

Today I sat down at a corner table with four seats. The shop was half empty when I arrived, and I felt okay taking a large table even though I was by myself. After a steady stream of customers trickled in, the shop started to feel crowded. I kept looking around, feeling uncomfortable, wondering if it was time for me to move to a smaller table (in a less desirable location). It was getting awkward, but my love of the corner spot kept me in my seat.

After I’d been there an hour, an older African American man approached me and politely said, Could we have a couple of your chairs, Ma’am? I decided this was my cue. Would you like to trade tables with me? I really don’t need this space, I said.

He looked at me as though I had offered him a hundred dollar bill.  Continue reading “Why I don’t write at home”

Parenting my grandma

I accompanied my grandmother to a doctor’s appointment last month. It was time to replace the battery in her pacemaker. Her two children were both thousands of miles away, and they wanted to know exactly what the doctor advised.

So after sending my kids to school, I drove one hundred miles to meet Grandma at her cardiologist’s office. On a clipboard I brought a list of questions from my dad and a bunch of documents proving that I was permitted to attend the appointment. Continue reading “Parenting my grandma”