“Do you know every time you breathe Mom and Dad love you more?” I stop half way down the stairs and listen to the conversation unfold at the breakfast table between Stephanie and Jordan. “Huh?” “It’s true,” she insists. “Every time you breathe they love you more.” I hear her suck in a deep breath. “See? They love me more. You try it.” “Try what?” I can’t even see his face and I know disbelief is written all over it. She sucks air in through her nose. It’s so loud… Read more every time you breathe →
I won’t be sorry that I wrote tonight. Tonight I sit in the same place I sit each night, my laptop balanced on my legs, and my pirate quilt snugged around me. Tonight he sits beside me watching a game, just like most nights. Tomorrow I will sit in this same place, with the same blanket snugged around me, and the same guy beside me. Tonight the dishes are done, the lunches are packed, and the dryer is close to buzzing the end of the cycle. Tomorrow the dishes will… Read more tonight (soLs) →
I’m not a stranger to waiting. It was during our wait for Sam when I realized much of life is spent waiting. It is typical to be waiting for something. We wait for appointments and cashiers and packages. We wait for vacations and weekends and holidays. We wait for tests to be over. We wait for family — wanting them to arrive, saying good-bye as they leave, hoping they come back. Life is filled with waiting. Perhaps the living isn’t so much in the events, but in the wait. As… Read more waiting →
There are moments in life when we know the choice we are making isn’t going to make life any easier. Sometimes these are small choices — I’m going to stick… Read more shine →
Early this morning I was thinking about my slice. As I looked in the mirror, I decided I should slice this is me. This is what you would see if you saw me today. Now for the story behind what you see. The scarf: Yes, it is a pencil. My librarian-friend Nancy made it for me. Do you remember Nancy? She used to read to Sam every week when he was a pre-schooler.Pearls around my neck: Andy bought them in Peru, South America from street kids in a fishing village.My… Read more this is me (soLs) →
As a writer, I often “prune” my words. As Ralph Fletcher taught in one of his early books, it is often by cutting back the extra, wild, or dead parts that a flower flourishes. The same is true for our words. I like to share this idea with students too. Young writers are often consumed with adding words. It’s a big shift to consider cutting back. Yet, writing well is just as much about what you don’t say as what you do say. Revising is just as much about adding… Read more cutting back (soLs) →
Mom’s nails Grandma’s nails Always painted. My nails (Lately) always painted. Steph’s nails Hannah’s nails never painted. Until recently. Purple and pink. Electric green. They sit. Hands poised. I paint. Practice patience. Attempt to appreciate the giggles, Even though they keep moving. They say, “I love being like you, Mom.” And I realize It’s not about the nails. It’s much bigger.
Our oldest turned eleven. Eleven. Eleven. Eleven. Sandra Cisneros writes — Because the way you grow old is kind of like an onion or like the rings inside a tree trunk or like my little wooden dolls that fit one inside the other, each year inside the next one. That’s how being eleven years old is. I can see it in her. She turned eleven and yet there’s all those other years stacked inside of her. I always thought twelve would be the milestone birthday, because when she’s twelve more of those years… Read more she turned eleven (soLs) →
W hy do theyO rder too manyR eaders toK ill time filling inS paces with mindless compliancy? Do theyH ope students will magicallyE xcel and somedayE xperience joy andT rueS uccess?Worksheets?Really? Join us on Two Writing Teachersfor Slice of Life Tuesdays.
Ruth Ayres Writes 