Meredith Carson... Across the Pond and Back Again...

Back at the beginning of the fall, in anticipation of my undoubtedly imminent seasonal depression, I tried out a new antidepressant drug.   The medication that I used last year was just so-so and carried with it some unwanted side effects, so I started out with a very low dose of the new drug.  By the end of the first day I felt like I was wired on caffeine.   Toward the end of the second day I had developed a pounding headache which was exacerbated by the drug induced insomnia.   Clearly this new drug was not the miracle I was hoping for.   I returned the mostly unused bottle to the pharmacy for disposal and made up my mind that we all just needed to move to Colorado where life, I  imagine, must be perfect. Colorado was not a realistic quick fix, so I took a few deep breaths and decided not to panic.   I was not ready to let go of the deep contentment that had settled over me during the summer months.   I continually meditated on ...

Last night I was invited to help out with a "Birthday Bake Off" party hosted by my friend Allison for her daughter's twelfth birthday.  She claims she was inspired by a home baking challenge we had here at our house the night before school started.  (You can read about our Sweet Genius Baking Challenge HERE .)  But 'inspiring' is about the only thing for which I can take credit.  She hosted a glorious party in our church's big kitchen where eleven girls and one excited boy created twelve unique and beautiful cakes.  I teamed up with my nine-year-old daughter Sophia to create this simple and wonderful "Trip Down Lemon Lane" cake.   Allison created a fanciful and gratifying birthday party that her daughter Natalie will never forget.  All twelve kids got to take home a one-of-a-kind cake made by themselves to share with their families.  "Brilliant!" I declare. Last night's fun has sent the cogs and wheels in my h...

I have been once again whipped up into the vortex that is middle school.  The first time around I was a sixth grader myself.  I remember that I was completely panicked and self-conscious about how I looked but too tired to wake up early enough to ensure that I had brushed my hair and dressed myself in matching clothes each morning.  I was completely overwhelmed with the busyness of   my new schedule at Jamestown Middle School.    I was dumbstruck by the school lessons about atoms and molecules, communism and the Holocaust, and I was dazzled by the vast assortment of different kids whose approval I so desired. I spent the entirety of my sixth grade year simultaneously feeling both confused and excited; lost and found; idiotic and brilliant.   I experimented with fashion, with friends, with study habits, and with personal identities.   It was exhausting. Meredith, age 11 Rocking the Swatch watch, of course Finally, after many ye...

The night before school started I decided we needed one last creative hurrah at our house before the drudgery of homework and the dread of early morning alarm clocks set in.  Over the summer my two oldest girls and I had become obsessed with the show Sweet Genius on the Food Network.  This show is hosted by the creepy, quirky, and wonderful Chef Ron Ben-Israel.  The premise of the show: accomplished cake/sugar/candy artists are presented with strange mandatory ingredients (like caviar or fruit roll-ups) that must be used in the creation of a dessert that fits into a particular category such as candy, chocolate, or cake.  Contestants are also supplied with an "inspiration" (like disco or puppies) that must be represented in their final, delicious product. On September 2, 2013 we had a Sweet Genius inspired competition in our kitchen.  My kids, who are novice bakers, were allowed to use recipes as references.  They didn't have a ...

I sent this beautiful person off to middle school for the first time this week. She wasn't wearing the war paint when I hustled her onto the wrong bus at 7 am.  She was dressed in a pair of orange shorts and a t-shirt, an outfit she hadn't agonized over very much, by the looks of it.  She was nonchalant and relaxed, but as I watched the wrong bus carry her away into the darkness of the early morning, my insides seized up unexpectedly and I had the unnerving desire to chase after the bus screaming, "Come back, sweet girl!!"  What the hell happened? The overwhelming sense of worry that overtook me that morning was completely unexpected.  After realizing that the number on the bus that my daughter was riding was NOT the number of the bus she was supposed to be riding, I hurried home and called our public school transportation office.  The rather bored secretary confirmed that Emma would arrive at her own school after the high school kids ...

Last week my oldest daughter attended a poetry camp.  She was pretty private about all of the camp happenings during the course of the week and mentioned very nonchalantly on Wednesday that there would be a poetry reading on Friday.  "How exciting!" I thought.  I knew that I'd love to go and hear my girl recite a poem or two that she'd scratched out during the week, so I arrived with average expectations and left with puffy eyes and a bursting heart. I think that Emma Carson is a little bit special, and here are a couple of her poems for your enjoyment.  Hearing them read by my girl with cool confidence and captivating expression was almost more than this mama could handle. An Inspiration My dad is Christmas pancakes in August. My dad is a ghost-buster on Halloween. My dad brings you a rose at school on your birthday. My dad is unexpected. My dad knows everything but doesn’t boast. My dad is a teaser. My dad is heart-fully sorry that he teased you. My dad w...

Summer was a bit late to arrive this year.  When I last sat down to write, there was a bit of panic coursing through my fingers as they tapped on the keyboard.  I was suffocating under a blanket of doubt.  Would summer ever properly arrive?  I felt that I urgently needed to leave the country and possibly leave the state of Michigan permanently.  I didn't know if I could cope for one more day without the warm sun on my face. Shortly after I wrote about escaping back to Great Britain (a foolish retreat location for a sun seeker), summer finally did arrive, and ever since I have been happily drowning in it.  I cannot begin to describe how much better everything is during the warm, sunny, summer months for me.  I am still myself.  I do not suddenly have organized drawers or find myself cheerfully putting away fresh smelling stacks of folded laundry early each morning.   I am still an introvert who feels more than a bit...

I can remember the exact moment it hit me.   I was sitting on the rubbery play surface at our local outdoor playground on an unusually warm and sunny British afternoon.   My young children were playing some sort of imaginative game that required them to gather pebbles, dandelions, and blades of grass which they spun furiously in the gravity bowl while they chattered back and forth in high pitched voices with elfin British accents.   The sky was blue and a jolly red post box stood in my line of sight as I gazed across Llantrisant Road.   On the opposite side of the street, there were vibrant, verdant hills dotted with sheep and sluggish, grazing cattle. Right then the notion hit me like a stepped upon pitch fork hits a stooge between the eyes.   We would eventually move back to the USA, and, when we did, I would feel homesickness for Great Britain in the same way that I yearned for my American home while living abroad.   I would forever be torn betwe...

I just returned from the Glorious South.   I did not realize how much I missed it there until I was, after the longest Michigan winter ever, re-immersed in its sunshine and flip flops and sweet tea.   Down South little girls wear floral dresses and have names like Lisa Marie and Tori Rae.   Their mamas have perfect pink toenails, carry Vera Bradley bags, and say things like, “Come on, Mary Martin, nobody has time for this hissy fit today.” Ladies lunch outdoors and smile pleasantly at my three year old who is dancing around the restaurant patio whilst hopped up on chocolate milk and cheesecake.   They notice the concerned expression on my face and say, “Honey, don’t you worry a thing about her!   She is just precious.” And I reply, “Oh!   I just love your accent!   I used to live down here but now I’m up in Michigan, and…” my voice trails off. They exchange mutual “bless her heart” glances and look back at me with eyes full of symp...