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

How can I write when there are so many entertaining distractions at my house?  Why just this morning, when I could have been writing or reflecting deeply on the meaning of existence, I instead played "Scattercat," a game very enthusiastically invented by my two year old.  The game is initiated when she, while sitting in my bed, asks innocently, "Mom, will you be Scattercat?"  If the answer is yes, then I get to take on the persona of a bipolar cat.  She typically shoves me under the covers where I protest with growls and hisses. Then she asks in a sweetly cooing voice, "Scattercat, are you okay?  Are you being nice?  Do you want to pat a ball?  Are you ticklish?"  Scattercat must, of course, respond to all of these queries using cat-language only, and the game will go on as long as I allow it.  I realize that this all may sound completely torturous, and perhaps it would be apart from the fact that the inventor of the game gets so excited a...

Eleven years isn't so very long, but I am now a different person than I was then.  Eleven years ago I was twenty four years old, and I had rainbows in my eyes.  The future that I pictured was a perfect continuation of the fairy tale that had begun to blossom in my imagination.  Perfect fairy tales, however, are rather boring, and we learn very little when everything is perfect . Superficially I didn't have any wrinkles or stretch marks eleven years ago.  I had never spent a sleepless night taking care of someone else.  The girl in the picture above didn't know a whole lot about selfless giving.  For the record the girl sitting at the keyboard typing still has quite a bit to learn on that topic. When I looked, mesmerized, into my brand new husband's face eleven years ago, I never imagined that I could gaze upon him and feel anything less than euphoria.  Eleven years ago I was well-rested, and his pranks were always adorable.  His raggedy Ba...

About a year ago, I wrote this post in which I lamented the lack of "alone time" that we mother's face.  I was fearful that the constant stimulation of raising several children was leaving me spiritually illiterate.  I shared this post with a writer friend, and she liked it very much.  She also politely asked, "What's the 'take-away'?  What have you learned?"  This was a good and helpful question.  I thought about it, and I found myself, a year later, writing somewhat effortlessly about what I have learned... I love my “job,” but it isn’t what I pictured when others used to ask, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” In fact there isn’t much being involved in mothering.  There is, however, plenty of doing .  I do laundry.  I cook, clean, drive, read stories, herd belligerent little people in the direction of the bathtub, and participate in sticky craft activities that cause me to break out in imaginary hives.  I also listen,...

This little peanut, who came into the world calmly and peacefully on a Tuesday afternoon, is now a girl of eight !  She has blossomed into a charming and clever little person who entertains us with witty anecdotes, astute impersonations, and lively dance moves. Her baby sister, who refers to her as, 'my friend Sophie' finds her enchanting and yearns for her return anytime she is out. To her older sister, she is often best friend and playmate (except when she is 'worst enemy' and 'the meanest girl in the world').  Let's keep it real here. Sophia, we love watching you become more and more YOU everyday. You have a magnetic personality, and you seem to find friends everywhere you go. We like being around you because you love us just the way we are; We like the way you make us feel about ourselves, and THAT is some gift! You bring your own sunshine, your own creative and energetic solutions to problems, and your own sensible approach to life's ...