I've decided to put the "write what you know" advice to good use.

For the past few months I've been working on this project and I'm very pleased to finally launch my new E-Course: An Invitation to Grieve: Healing After a Miscarriage.

I never listen to music on my runs. Because, well, waste of time, right? How is that helping my conversational game or lifting my self-actualizing potential?

So I snuck off by myself. Wandering slowly between the wide-ruled paper and the rubber erasers. Running my fingers over the pencil pouches and wondering when he would need a compass or a protractor. Remembering my own new binders and PeeChee folders. The fresh smells of a new classroom and an empty desk, waiting to be filled, and to hold me for a year.

I'm pausing the blog for a few weeks because I'm working on another project that is taking up most of my free time. I'm really excited to share more details in the coming months, but I'm going to give myself the month of August to knuckle down and focus. In the meantime, here's a few links to some of my other writings in case you've missed them:

I’ve had a version of this blog post written so many times. I’ve lost count which shooting it came before, or after. And for some reason, I’ve not published it until today.

Hold up, not true. I know exactly why I’ve not published it until today:

I’ve been too scared.

Scared I would offend someone. Scared I wouldn’t say the right thing. Scared I was wrong. Scared I would anger some, or step on toes.

I had to take a lot of deep breaths today. I should have taken a few more. There were times I should have stopped to take one, but I didn’t. I yelled instead. I grabbed instead. I’m taking them now, while my boys are napping upstairs. Both sleeping soundly, something that doesn’t happen much these days.

Upon reflection, here’s what I should have said

I don’t often comment on current events or politics. I tend to keep this blog for random musings on life and motherhood. But the massacre in Orlando knocked the wind out of me this week. Somehow I can’t shake the horror.

I had a different post written with my commentary on our need for more humanity and less fear. I was almost ready to hit publish and share it. And maybe I will at some point. But then this happened with my son:

‘I want to paint my toes, Mama. I want pretty toes like you.’