Have cousins, will travel

My brother is 5 1/2 years older than me. 

Growing up, I was always one life stage behind him. When Chris was in high school, I was still in grade school. When I started junior high, he went off to college. The summer before I went to college, Chris got married and moved back to our hometown of Fargo. The month I got married, he became a dad.

Live from I-94: Driving with Wiants

I'm writing from the passenger seat of our Prius, driving through a cloudless twilight in western Minnesota. We are en route to Fargo to visit my family. 

A fresh mix CD is in the stereo, the snow is quietly melting into the farmland, and it's a beautiful night for a drive. We enjoy the music, we occasionally sing along, we look out the window, but mostly we talk.

If anyone asks me for marriage or relationship advice (which they don't, but that's ok) my best tip is to find someone you never grow tired of talking to. Marriage is a lot of long car rides and waiting for things at restaurants. 

It is my mess

I still remember the moment I found out about the Great Pacific Garbage Patch. It was 2009, and I was in San Francisco, talking to a man who had made it his personal and professional mission to help people and companies comprehend the environmental devastation caused by our careless consumption and disposal of plastic.

I wondered if he was for real. I Googled it, and sure enough, this was a thing. I comforted myself in the way that I often do when I hear about bad things happening in far away places: "It's serious, but smart people are on the case. It's not my mess. I'll take a deep breath, remind myself to recycle, and return to my regularly scheduled programming."

Balance is overrated: the ramblings of a sleep-deprived blogger

A week ago, I promised that I would write every day for 40 days. 

It's harder than I expected it would be. Some days, I sit down to write and the words pour across the screen like they were already written, tucked away somewhere, just ready to come out and greet the world.

Other days, like today, it's all starting, stopping, deleting. I'm so tired that I can barely see the screen in front of me. I've been awake for almost 19 hours, my body is crying out for sleep, and I ask myself why I made this commitment. Can't I just post a picture of my kids enjoying themselves at the car wash and call it a night?

The raccoons of Ithilien

I was at the keyboard, trying to think of a blog topic, when my cat, Rosie, jumped onto my lap. I moved her to the floor and resumed staring at the blank screen and trying to think of a topic. Rosie jumped back onto my lap. I moved her to the floor. Her brother, Max, jumped on my lap and purred loudly, as if to say "Could it be any more obvious?" Therefore, I present to you tonight's blog: The story of Rosie and Max.

Soggy shoes and nude pantyhose: the curse of the Midwestern optimist

I am not good at waiting for things.

I take brownies out of the oven while they're still gooey.

I touch things before my nail polish is dry.

I believe that Christmas gifts may be opened anytime in the Decemberish season.

Waiting for spring is very, very hard for me, especially after a winter like this one.

At first, the extreme cold was entertaining. 

The belly question

"Mommy, why does your belly look like that?"

My 3-year-old son, Felix, asks me this question while I'm getting dressed. He puts his little hands right below my belly button and gently pushes, perhaps to see if it's as squishy as it looks. He giggles. He has no way of knowing that he just focused on the most vulnerable part of my body.

I have one of those shapes in which excess weight immediately and stubbornly attaches to my middle. I've grown accustomed to strangers inquiring about my due date. I couldn't even catch a break when I was pregnant; the day before Evie was born, a woman tried to convince me that I must be carrying twins because no single baby could occupy so much space.