This Old New House.

I woke up around nine on Thanksgiving morning and, but for the clink clink clink of the fan and my dog licking her butt, the house was painfully silent. Nothing was as it should be. I made myself a cup of coffee, grabbed my … Continue reading

The One About the Snail Who Was in the Wrong Place At the Wrong Time.

Not long ago, Luca saw me forcefully stomp on a snail (that was missing half it’s shell).


I made it quick, because the thought of suffering, in creatures big and small, makes my heart heavy.

“Why did you just step on that snail” he asked.

“Because, I wanted to put it out of its misery,” I told him.

It would have been much easier had it ended there. But, of course, it didn’t, because he’s five and has a mother who Googles stuff like, “Why do Mockingbirds sing?” and “Do squirrels mind the rain?”

A million questions, that kid and his mom have.

I explained to him, “Well, it’s like when we come across a roach that’s had a run-in with the stuff the bug-man sprays, and I stomp on it. I mean, even though I’m terrified of roaches and can’t stand them, there’s one thing I can stand even less: watching them suffer.

This answer seemed to suffice and, thankfully, didn’t evolve into a conversation about death. Because, last time that happened, it spiraled into an hour long conversation that had me answering questions like, “So, there’s cricket heaven and then there’s roach heaven, right?”

But, just as I was patting myself on the back for explaining misery, pain, and suffering so well, I heard a loud stomp behind me.

I turned to see that Luca had just stomped on his own snail, only this snail was perfectly healthy. I was puzzled because he seemed so pleased about it, which isn’t like my gentle lover of life at all.

“Luca! Why would you do that?”

“Because I wanted to put him out of his miserable, mommy!”

Yeah, about that pat on the back.

Convincible Luca


Luca: Mommy, yesterday, on the playground, Julian and I pretended that we were convincible.

You pretended what, honey?

Luca: That we were convincible.

Oh. How do you play that game?

Luca: Mommy! It’s not a game.  It’s just when we pretend we’re convincible. Like, nothing can kill us.

Ohhhhh, you mean, invincible?

Luca: That’s what I said, mommy, convincible.

Okay, buddy, gotcha.

_ _

For someone so convincible, the kid’s sure hard to convince.


Tomorrow will mark five years since I became a mom for the first time.

It was one of the best days of my life, without a doubt.

And, also, oh-so bittersweet.

Tomorrow marks five years since I saw Susie, Tommy, Thomas, and sweet Vivi…for the very last time.

It’s definitely a lot of emotion to sort out in this busy mind of mine, but I do know one thing for sure.

I’ll never let that day hold anything other than joy for Luca. The alternative would be completely unfair for him. He’s far too young to be burdened with such adult heartbreak and emotion and, as his mom, it’s my job to separate the joy, from the desperation and heartache, that tomorrow brings.

And, I can.

And, I will.

Because, I have to.

So, today, I will mourn for what I didn’t know were my last moments with them.

Today, I will be grateful that each of them were allowed to meet Luca before they were taken from us, ten days later.

Today, I will not try to stomp out the sadness and the pain. But, instead, I will let myself feel it…all of it.

Today, I will soak them in.

Today, I will replay in my head the last moments I had with them, over and over again, until night comes.

Today, I will cry.

Today, I will scream to the sky how much I miss them.

Today, I will be angry at a world that has chosen to keep turning without them in it.

But, tomorrow…

Tomorrow, I will wake up and celebrate the day I became a mother to one of the most amazing people I know.

Tomorrow, I will smile and laugh and serve a doughnut with a birthday candle in it for breakfast.

Tomorrow, I will let Luca eat anything he wants.

Tomorrow, I will make his eyes light up when I give him his new, big boy scooter.

Tomorrow, I will leave the umbrella at home, because the dark clouds of today will have moved on, if only for a spell.