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Sisterhood of the "Single" Moms

In all the excitement of my in-laws’ visit, I didn’t have time to share with you what happened the day before they arrived.

Two Thursdays ago, around 6:30 p.m., I sat down at a favorite, local restaurant all by my lonesome. All by my glorious lonesome. Brian and I try to set aside time each week for me to run away from home so I can write, and I generally prefer restaurants over our local Starbucks—mainly because there is a “regular” at this Starbucks who insists on wearing headphones and singing Italian opera at the top of her tone-deaf lungs.

[Tone-deaf lungs? That makes no sense.]

If lungs could be tone-deaf, this woman should donate hers to science.

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It has become a ritual of mine to take photos of the cemetery here on Fort Leavenworth at various times of day, in different seasons, on holidays, and under certain weather conditions. There’s something about the pristine uniformity of this military cemetery that makes it so beautiful to me. And never is that more true than when the grounds are covered in a blanket of clean, undisturbed snow.

Blanket of Freedom

I look at the innumerable headstones and remember that each one represents a living soul:  a man, woman or (in some cases) teenager who was willing to take an oath to defend our nation against our enemies.

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Motherhood:  Not for the Faint of Stomach

I hopped in the car with the kids on Monday for a week-long trip to the booming metropolis of Knob Noster, Missouri. Yes, since you asked, we do lead glamorous lives.

Brian is working in Knob Noster all week, and I thought it would be a sanctifying experience if the kids and I joined him there for five days in a military hotel. I woke up with no alarm at 6:30 a.m. on Monday (seriously, that’s a miracle in and of itself) with a list of things I needed to accomplish before our 4:00 p.m. estimated departure. I wanted to wait until after Averi’s nap to hit the road, and I knew I would need every bit of the morning and afternoon to pack for a week in a hotel with two toddlers.

Did I mention it is a one bedroom hotel?

I was shooting for super-sancitifed. 

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The Lost & Found Letter

In case you’re wondering why my posts have been pretty infrequent around here, I’m now able to share with you the reason why. I have been working on a story so near and dear to my heart that I have poured all of my free time and energy into it. This is a story so incredible that I flew from Kansas back to Georgia to capture it.

It’s a story about my Grandmother, Geraldine “Gerry” Hinesley, and the man who was her first love.

A story about a letter she wrote and how it arrived 69 years later…

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Last Tuesday morning, Brian came into our bedroom and sat by my side. I was in a deep sleep after a restless night, and he gently shook my arm to wake me. My eyes struggled to focus and find his gaze, but once they did, I knew. I just wasn’t sure who.

“Katy, your parents have been trying to call you. PawPaw passed away this morning.”

I immediately closed my eyes again and visualized his face.

millionaire_15

I pictured him smiling. He was always smiling.

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12 Things I've Learned about Professional Blogging

I don’t know if I ever told y’all this, but Katy in a Corner is actually my third blogging venture.

[Wow. So, third time's a…Dirty Dancing parody? That is just sad.]

My first blog (or what I called an online journal at the time) went live in 2003 and was entitled, “Postcards from Leeds.” It chronicled my year abroad as an ambassadorial scholar for the Rotary Foundation. I was a serious professional back when I was 22.

I've Got French Cuffs

You know what this photo says? “Look out, world. I’ve got French cuffs, and I know how to use them.”

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gardenofweedin

Guyyyyyyyys, WHERE have you been? I’ve been looking everywhere for you!

[Huh? Wait a minute…SHE'S the one who didn't post anything for a week! So, why is she looking for us?]

I’m confused. Have you been looking for me?

[Why does she keep having these stupid conversations with herself?]

Have y’all seen my medication lately?

Kid-ding.

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One Woman's Trash

As you may have already read, we had a garage sale recently.

[Really? I didn't notice an entire week's worth of annoying, melodramatic garage sale posts.]

I get your point.

But I’m here to talk about the aftermath of that traumatic experience.
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Seller's Remorse, Pottery Barn Rug

I can probably count on one hand the number of times I have experienced buyer’s remorse. I happen to be rather opinionated (“RATHER?!?!?!?,” says my husband), so I don’t usually waffle back and forth when I shop.

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