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Christi Diggs
on May 23 2013 - 06:00 AM
A drop of spin, a cup of deception and tsp. politics=Apathy
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Lindsay Metcalf
on May 22 2013 - 06:00 AM
When that tornado siren sounds, I'm in the basement
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mara williams
on May 21 2013 - 06:00 AM
Summer break has this mom on a house upkeep war path.
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Some might say that she arrived late to the party-heck even I entertained that notion as my pregnancy lingered on into that forty-first week. Looking back I can now say that her entrance into the world was impeccable, that slightly round face unmarred from the usual, terrifying entrance into the world that most babies make. Those blue eyes seemed to match those barely-there fuzzy tresses, her pale ivory skin so soft to the touch.
This soft nature didn’t last, as her energy level is almost directly proportionate to the fiery-red tone of her hair, and it seemed as if the longer her locks grew, so did her passion and spirit. This beautiful girl grasped the term terrible two’s and trying threes and embraced them with a grip of life. I certainly faltered a time or two, wondering if I would fail this human that had been entrusted to my care, but I just held on tighter. Love prevailed.
She started out not caring for the written word-unless it had colorful pictures accompanying them. Thus started her journey into the science-y, natural word, where books of spiders, snakes and rocks littering our home, creating balances at not only the local, but school libraries as well. Reading long sentences bored her and my earnest wait almost diminished-until second grade brought us a teacher that had the patience of a saint. Her love of books blossomed, much like flowers in the spring, gradually peeking their greens from the cold, hard ground and soon, giving hope of the warmth of summer. Thankfully, the relationship with those black and white pages has not withered-only gotten stronger and more cultured.
Her interests are eclectic, and the older she gets, the more well-rounded and entertaining she becomes. Marching band, yearbook, newspaper-along with countless pages written and pictures drawn, these are only a few of the talents that she possesses. This is only countered by her animation, the speed at which she verbally expresses herself, so much that sometimes interpretation is required. This part of her, is the only part that I try to slow down because I want to fully enjoy what she has to say, may be my favorite part of her being.
This her, or she is my Grace, my second born, my girl with the long, red hair that keeps my life interesting, that with her sister and brothers makes my life complete. She turns seventeen tomorrow, with the style only Grace knows, her now green eyes lost in the fantasy of Harry Potter, eating red velvet cake and alternating between the demure and the overly-enthused-and she won’t be a minute too late.

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