“It’s just a house”, Sid reminds me.

People make a place a home, not the walls or windows.

Yet these walls provided shelter, these windows light.

As the boxes are packed and a new house takes shape, I am reminded of the blessings of the place we leave behind.

A house that had been purchased to raise a family of five.

It rather quickly became a shelter for four.

Straddling the world of what was and what is, a daily, tangible reminder of possibility.

I could raise these girls here.

I could pay the mortgage, change the air filter, mulch the beds, clean the house and still dance in the kitchen.

Late nights spent sitting on the cool tile of the bathroom floor, holding back little girls hair as sickness overwhelmed them. I could parent alone.

Days listening to the sounds of laughter as my children played with their neighborhood friends. I could find joy in the moments of my day.

Evenings, after girls were tucked safely in bed, when a knock on the door meant a visit from my own dear neighborhood friend. A chance to connect over a glass of wine and the knowledge that I was safe. I could share my fears wrapped in the cocoon of this house with those who sought the best for me.

On February 23 we will say good bye to what was.

A new world of possibility exsists in a place where a family of eight will take up residence.

He and I will now do this together. Maya Angelou quote about home via Hurray Kimmay Blog


I can’t recall why all six had to be at the doctor’s office that day when only Molly was in for a visit. But a few weeks ago as I sat in my office at work, a text from Matthew stopped me mid sentence. A few words about the appointment taking longer then expected, a comment about how well the girls were enduring the wait and then this image

We stumble over one another quite often.

Meals can be burdensome with taste buds of eight taunting us with their differences.

Most mornings we debate the benefits of a sugary cereal breakfast that they will eat versus a warm plate of food no one will touch.

We still can’t quite seem to get an evening routine down.

But here, in this picture, is the image of what we strive for.

Bored out of their minds, leaning on one another and technology, they are a family, they look like the sisters God intended them to be.




To Blend

People often inquire now how the “blending” is going?

It’s simultaneously beautiful and hard I confess.

Grace doled out on a daily basis from husband to wife, girl to girl, stepparent to stepchild.

Like my races, some miles punctured with highs and others with lows, I find the hours of my days stretching out in the same manner.

The secret sauce I am finding is in the surrender.

If I recognize that so much of this transition cannot be controlled, if I lead with love, our new family thrives.

Nothing worth having comes easy my papa would tell me. How right he was.





At first the thought of leaving seemed selfish.

Money had been spent on a wedding and a Disney vacation with our girls was around the corner.

But, if we didn’t carve out time alone now, then when?

After sifting through options it became clear that 4 nights and 5 days in Breckenridge, CO was where we were meant to land.

Twenty- four hours into our married life, we boarded a plan and found ourselves in the middle of those mountains.

And with nothing preplanned we made our way to daily mass where beautiful people prayed for our marriage then gave us some tips on good food and hiking.

Up to 12,500 feet elevation we climbed one day. My stubbornness almost got the best of us but this man, this partner, he’s my balance and his steadiness gave us direction.

We spent hours talking about our goals for the future, for ourselves and our family.

And when it was time to go, more gratefulness flooded my heart.

Happy to see our girls and ready for the real journey to begin.



These are my people now.

They love on me and my tribe in such an effortless way that it teaches me how to give more generously.

After five days together, in a sea of Disney, they still love me (I think).

A case of the “hangries”, meltdowns and tired legs (all of which were mine) and yet they have kept the invitation open for Christmas Eve at their house.

They are pretty special.

Not to mention they raised this boy into the most incredible man, husband and father.

I look forward to more of everything with these people.

Grateful that they are now mine.






She’s gone.

She died a slow, painful, sputtering death almost two months back now.

Her last leg was 13.1 miles on a very cold, winter day.


A personal best, if there is such a thing on a treadmill, was a great way to go out.

What is a girlfriend to do when her best friend leaves her with no fallback plan?

After all purchasing a new treadmill during the post Christmas/ New Year’s health kick rush is not fiscally prudent.

And living without a daily run was not an option according to the girls who loudly and very vocally told everyone they knew that their Momma was not fun to be around when she missed a run.

That’s how I found myself one Saturday morning at the local gym purchasing a monthly membership and promising myself I would only come long enough to get me to  spring when treadmill prices would plummet.

In the intervening weeks from the time I joined until today, I have found myself in the throes of a metamorphosis. The woman who thought running was the only sport which would satisfy her soul has now found herself eagerly awaiting her strength training days.

She’s also found herself relishing the indoor track. My sprint runs have turned me into an athlete I didn’t think possible as I enter my 40’s.

And those people at the gym, I sort of find myself looking forward to seeing them each day. My crew, usually in the women’s only section, quietly motivates each other. I the recluse runner recognize the power of working out with a team.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m still anxiously awaiting the day when I can once again respond to my 4:45am alarm, lace up my shoes and head downstairs for my morning run.

But, for now, I will be grateful that the death of something once deemed essential, was the catalyst for the birth of something new.





I’m still here.

Image may contain: cloud, sky, tree, plant and outdoor

While the celebrations have ended the marchers and the revelers gone home, there is a group of us day after day, week after week and year after year who remain, regardless of who occupies the Oval Office or gavels congress into session.

We wake up each day kiss our children and our partners and go about our work believing we make a difference in a world that for a very long time has viewed us as inconsequential.

We welcome your presence in this city. Whether you wore a pink or a red hat we applaud your enthusiasm.

We do have one request.

Don’t let this month or this week be just a Facebook picture or a Tweet. Let this be the beginning of your participation in our democracy.

If I may be so bold, may I offer you some advice from a well worn lobbyist?

Don’t save your vote for once every four years. When this spring rolls around and the polling places open again, please don’t tell us you aren’t voting. More is decided twice a year in the voting booth in your town then all year in Washington D.C.

Show up. No doubt at some point soon you will receive a mailer from your school board, your township trustee or even your congressional representative asking for your participation in a town hall or community conversation. Your first reaction should be to clear your calendar and to engage.

Turn off the TV and pick up a pen. Yes I said pen. Write your elected a letter. Start by thanking them for their service. Then let them know what you are thinking. Ask questions and offer to be a resource.

Speak with passion to your children about why you choose to engage in this great democracy. The last thing I want to see happen is this increased interest in the political process be fleeting. My hope is that my daughters will never question why they engage politically because being a part of the national conversation becomes an EXPECTATION of their generation.

One last thing. Pray for all of those that work daily in a place they believe has great beauty and even greater potential.

Until next time.
I’m not going anywhere.
I will be here when you return.


Once a week Joe and I have a date.

We meet up at the back of the Fleet Feet store on Lane Avenue where he spends anywhere from 30-45 mins working me hard.

Joe is my physical therapist.

I’ve been battling pain in my hip and leg. It’s gone on for a very long time.

I traditionally had one of two approaches to handling the injury.

I self medicated with Aleve and continued to run


I would talk my primary care physician into giving me a cortisone injection (those usually occurred every 3 -6 months) and continue to run.

Both options masking the pain, never getting at the root of the problem.

The gig was up earlier this fall when the pain became so great my long runs were torture. My primary care doctor refusing to give me anymore cortisone, referred me to a sports medicine doctor who specialized in runners. After x-rays to rule out a few injuries the sports medicine doctor sent me to Joe for six weeks of PT. He said Joe was the best in the business when dealing with my type of injury.

On day one Joe laid out what I was up against, the work I had ahead of me.

After years of the same repetitive motion, one side of my body was weaker than the other.  My one hip dropping lower than it should.

Somewhere deep inside that hip, buried under other muscle, was one little muscle who had been doing a ton of work. That muscle was not strong enough to carry the load.

Over the last year other muscles around that little muscle had been trying hard to make up for its failings. The result was now the pain I felt in the larger muscles (my hamstring) and in my nerves, who had become irritated by the little muscle.

Pain as a result of ignoring the issue and not strengthening the muscle.

I didn’t realize how weak I was.

Isn’t that how life sometimes works? It takes another person to point out the areas of weakness we couldn’t see ourselves?

I have a half marathon in Rochester, NY on January 7.

Joe promises, if I do the work, it will be a pain free race.

Message heard clearly.

No longer masking the pain, weakness noted, I’ll be putting the time in to course correct.







3,285 sun rises ago on a rainy, October morning he soared.

photo 1

The rest of us left with lingering memories of the booming voice, bear hugs and weekend runs.

I love to dream of him. When I wake up, for a brief second, I am granted a reprieve from my grief, as I forget he has died.

Most days though, while his passing is a part of my life, the scar is covered by the realities of this world. We all just move forward, nine years into our journey.

What do I want to leave you with?

I want you to know, in ways I cannot articulate, how wonderful my daddy was.

And, I want you to understand that others walk this path and feel the loss too, year after year, day after day.

Our fast paced world seeks to rush past it. We speak less and less of those whose passing was momentous to our lives.

How about instead we recognize that we are all always recovering?

That loss does not occur in a moment.

There is no time limit on grief.

Let’s give each other the grace to dance with the pain in public long after its perceived expiration date.