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I don’t get outraged about a lot of things. It takes a lot of energy to get outraged, and I don’t have a whole lot of energy to spare, what with wrangling two manically spirited children and training for half-marathons and what-not. A few things are more or less guaranteed to provoke me to ranting…

(What? That frilly get-up is so totally princely, if we’re thinking princes circa 1492. Totally.) (I’ve missed two days of training because of a terrible, sinus-and-eardrum-busting head cold. Tomorrow – fingers crossed – the fairy wings go back on and Jasper (traveling by jogging stroller) and I (jogging) will hit the road again. Wish me…

I’ve made a few resolutions for this year. Most of them are pretty ordinary: get more sleep, eat better, watch less television, learn to bake cinnamon rolls. Some of them are little more ambitious. One – my resolution to fully and actively embrace my desire to find, or at least better understand, faith – I’ve…

To say that Emilia got angry at the sledding hill today would be to understate things dramatically, although it was never clear whether she was mad at the insufficiently slippery snow, the insufficiently steep slope, or both. Neither apologized.
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