About Sara

Sara works in higher education, but she's most proud of her role as a Mama to two precocious boys, Lionel Conner, age 4, and Quincy August, age 2. In honor of turning 30 in 2016, she pierced her nose to "keep her young." She loves watching guilty-pleasure television, writing about motherhood, decorating her first home, sipping red wine with her husband Jordan, and chasing after her sons.

Author Archive | Sara

kindergarten eve.

dear sweet Lionel,

i can’t believe this day has come.

i’ve had many, many wishes for you since you were born five years ago, but my biggest hope for you has always been that your heart would be kind, and that’s still my wish for you today: in all things, be kind.


when you’re fifth or the twenty-fifth in line for lunch, be kind.

when you know the answer and your teacher doesn’t call on you, be kind.

when the child seated next to you knows the answer and you don’t, be kind.

when the children in your classroom look different from you, be kind.

when your classmate has an accident – drops a cup, spills their milk, wets their pants – and is sad, be kind.

when your teacher asks a question and seventeen hands shoot up in the air, be kind.

when you hear others teasing another child, be kind.

when you’re playing four-square on the playground and there’s a fifth child who wants to play, be kind.

when you’re sliding down the slide – on your belly, as you do – and you bump into a child as the tunnel opens, be kind.

when the children ask you why you’re smiling or grumpy or short or tired or wearing rain boots or clapping or ANYthing, be kind.

when you’re in gym class or at recess and you see a child that’s alone or shy or sad on the sidelines, be kind.

when a child forgets their mittens or scarf or notebook at home, be kind.


what’s just as important as being kind to others, dear boy, is being kind to yourself.


when you’re overwhelmed or confused or feeling down on yourself, be kind…to yourself.

when you’re missing your mama or your daddy or your brother or your puppy, be kind…to yourself.

when you’re feeling icky at school and are waiting to be snuggled, be kind…to yourself.

when you lose your lunchbox and you are afraid that mama will be mad, be kind…to yourself.

when your teacher chides you for talking out of turn or for giggling with your friends, be kind…to yourself.

when you forget to complete a project or leave your field trip permission slip at school, be kind…to yourself.

when you struggle to enunciate your “th’s” and your teacher reminds you, be kind…to yourself.

when you aren’t picked to play four-square or basketball, be kind…to yourself.

when you meet a friend who doesn’t want to play with you that day, be kind…to yourself.

when you wish and hope to receive a party invitation, but you aren’t given one, be kind…to yourself.

when you feel like the little kid, the short kid, in the class, be kind…to yourself.

when you wonder if anyone loves you, be kind…to yourself, and never forget: your mama is your biggest fan.


enjoy this new adventure, big boy!




he’s FIVE.

Sweet Lionel,

I keep saying that I can’t believe that you are turning FIVE, and my reason for that is I can remember when you were born. I can remember holding your tiny body close to mine, heartbeat to heartbeat, so utterly taken with your little self.

And now, sweet boy, five years later, I am still so very taken with you.

Your kindness towards your brother, especially, is so tender, and your love for him – and the way you include him in all of your play, and even in your sports endeavors, too – is inspiring. I pray that your heart continues to bloom as you grow.

Your smart little brain works hard each day to dream up amazing ideas, which will suit you well not only in kindergarten this fall, but also in life.

As I prayed over you last night, thanking God for you on the eve of your fifth birthday, I said that I am honored to be your Mama. With each word I lifted up to God, your kisses on my cheeks grew more frequent, and goodness, I felt so blessed in that moment.

Each day I share with you, Lionel, is one of my best days, simply because you are one of the best things to ever come into my life. Being your Mama is the greatest adventure of my lifetime.

Here’s to FIVE, Honey Bear.


is this thing on? hunkering down + doing more.


i haven’t been here in awhile.

maybe you’ve noticed.

maybe you haven’t.

either way, i’m okay with that.

i’m realizing, at age 30, that i’m more than okay with satisfying ME, with doing ME, with reporting to no one other than ME and MINE.

and even more than being okay with this…i’m realizing that all of this ME talk isn’t selfishness.

it’s called hunkering down, and i’ve been doing a lot of it.

* *

like many, many, MANY of you, i awoke to a world that i didn’t recognize on November 9 – which, coincidentally, was also my 30th birthday. i went to bed the night before in turmoil, living in a wine-stained haze that wasn’t even remotely enough to conceal my anxious hand-wringing, my insistent anger, my utter refusal not to say his name.

i likened him to Rowling’s Voldemort – i would not utter his name in my house.

how will we tell Lionel? i asked Jord, searching his pained face for answers.

we tell him that sometimes, the bad guy wins, he replied.

and so we did. and it was one of the most difficult conversations i’ve ever had with Lionel in his life thus far.

* *

i’ve made changes in my life since turning 30.

i got my nose pierced.

i now wash my make-up off before bed…most nights.

i now have big-girl make-up that isn’t from the drug store.

i drink more water.

i eat breakfast…and it’s healthy.

i’m entertaining the idea of joining a gym.

i’ve said goodbye to Facebook…again.

and i’m sharing my opinions, political or otherwise, more often.

perhaps not as much as i could, or as much as i should, but i’m trying to let go of the coulds and the shoulds in favor of silence, in favor of listening to what God keeps placing on my heart.

what’s God telling you?

here’s what he’s saying to me:

it’s just about love.

how best can we love one another?

sometimes, loving one another is about having the hard conversations, about challenging each other’s views, about asking questions that you don’t want to ask but you do it anyway.

why do you feel the way that you do?

sometimes, authentic, believe-it-to-my-core truth can be the opposite of other people’s truth, and i’m learning that this is okay. but i’m also learning to ask more questions.

are you open to other sides of the story?

where do you get your news?

are you informed?

sometimes, the answers i get to these questions are disturbing.

sometimes, i realize that in between all of the stereotypes and misinformation, there’s no room for agreement. i lie in my bed frustrated and angry that my words are not enough to change years and experiences and hearts to embrace what i feel is right.

and sometimes, i rise from my bed in the morning, and i force myself to recognize that God is sovereign – that God has this.

* *

if i’ve learned anything since waking up 30 in Trump’s America, it’s that i’m just so damn privileged.

while i may not agree with all that the current leader of this country does or says or thinks, i’m sheltered from the hurt of it all, mostly.

my kids will still attend a high-quality public school in our neighborhood, regardless of whether or not Betsy DeVos ruins it all. my husband will still go to work in IT for a local hospital, regardless of whether or not ACA is repealed. i will still teach English to students who immigrated to this country from war-torn nations like Iraq and Eritrea and Somalia, regardless of whether or not these students’ families – or my students themselves – are forbidden to travel.

there are innumerable levels to my family’s potential losses in the current political climate. it would take many, many chips falling poorly – many, many cookies crumbling – for my family’s reality to shatter.

and from my position of privilege, i recognize that for many, a shattered life is one chip away. or – even more startling – the crumbs are already on the floor.

* *

and so, here i am, striving to find out how to proceed.

it’s about love.

it’s about asking myself this:

how could i show up for others today?

how should i show up for others today?

i don’t have all of the answers, but here’s what i do know:

i need to do more.

you’re TWO!


dearest Quincy August,

you, our boy, are TWO today. you may have entered our world by surprise by showing up a few weeks early, but you’ve held my heart in your chubby little fingers since that day.

a few things that i love about your two-year-old self:

  • your uninhibited love for your brother. your best days are the ones that start and end with your brother Lionel, and you find everything that he does to be enjoyable. he has created quite the path for you to follow, and following him is exactly what you intend to do with your days, but with your own Quincy-Bug flair. my prayer is that your relationship, even though i know that it will ebb and flow, will always be tender.
  • your frequent utterances of “No, Bob!” oh, Rhyming Dust Bunnies, if the laughter that you’ve brought to our family paid dividends, this book would never leave the bestseller list.
  • your affection for rocking in the wooden rocker before bed. while your big brother’s love for the rocking chair developed quite early in his life, you were a late bloomer; you only grew to love the rocker when, desperate for you to go-to-sleep-already, we dragged it out of Grandma Patty and Grandpa Joe’s garage and used it to instill a bedtime routine. now, even on the nights that you don’t want to stop play-play-playing to go to bed, you relish your stories (usually Pete the Cat and Thomas the Tank Engine), your snuggles (we relish those, too), and your songs before you slumber. you even let me rock you all the way to sleep today before nap time, which was quite special – thank you.
  • your penchant for hiding when Mama and Daddy want to do any of the following: A) change your diaper, B) dress you for the day, or C) leave the house. even more adorable? your sheer incapability of hiding anywhere but Mama and Daddy’s bedroom.

there are not enough keys on this keyboard, tears in my eyes, or giggles in my belly to describe how much i adore you. i remark often that despite your stubbornness, that you are one of my favorite people on this planet, and it’s true – i couldn’t feel more proud to be your Mama.

xoxo, my loving boy.

you have my heart forever,


three things i say too often, and one thing i need to say more.


this morning, i was walking out of my bedroom after getting dressed, and i see a blur of blue flying through the air.

i knew instantly that disaster was imminent.

as the blue ball throttled my coffee mug and sent it flying to the floor, sending raindrops of salted-caramel-mocha-flavored coffee literally EVERYWHERE, i took a deep breath, anticipated the terrified and shameful reactions of my oldest son, the ball-thrower…and i decided to smile.

he was expecting me to yell, to chide him for playing ball upstairs (a no-no in our house), for not being careful.

but i smiled.

looking down at the mocha-colored coffee splatters, his eyes grew even larger. “it was my fault, Mama – it was an accident. i’m sorry! i’m sorry!” he blurted out.

and then he looked up and saw my smiling face…and his mocha-colored eyes returned to their normal, inquisitive state, and he smiled, too.

“i know, buddy. it’s okay,” i responded, reaching for the paper towels. “can you please keep your brother out of the kitchen while i clean this up?”

“i will, Mommy. i’ll do it!” he said, a sense of pride in his big-boy voice as he readied himself for a big-boy task.

* *

as i was soaking up coffee with paper towels, my bare knees mocha-colored from my failed attempts to dodge the coffee on the floor, i thought about the way that i responded to this morning’s disaster.

i want to always be this kind of mama.

the one that understands that accidents happen, that kids are sometimes terrors that leave a mess in their wake.

the one who SMILES in the face of disaster.

the kind of mama that thinks about her response BEFORE SAYING ANYTHING to her sensitive and tender-hearted child who, with a swift kick of a ball (and excellent aim, mind you) broke the rules.

so, in this spirit, i bring you three things that i say too often, and one that i need to say more.

  1. “we need to be careful/gentle.” i’ll admit – i even uttered this phrase this morning during the coffee incident. but here’s the thing: sweet L is now four, as much as i hate to recognize it, and his uncontrollable toddler limbs are no more. in their place are capable, strong, focused, and (most of the time) gentle movements that take him to far-away places and that help him to achieve great things. in other words, even though accidents happen, or even though he may be doing something risky, like jumping from the second-to-last step or kicking a ball upstairs “where mama’s pretty things are,” he knows to be careful; we’ve taught him well.
  2. “your brother is smaller than you are.” just like L is aware of his own body, he is also aware of his little brother’s capabilities and size. even though i remind him often, particularly during moments of tackling and wrestling and rough play, to be careful with Q, i tend to forget that A) he is being careful, and that B) our Q-bug is, more often than not, the aggressor, the initiator, the culprit.
  3. “you’re a big boy.” i say this phrase in two distinct ways – A) to applaud him for excellent behavior or achievements, such as learning how many letters are in his first, middle and last names, or being kind to his friends, and B) to encourage him to behave better. i’m bringing up usage B) here as something that i need to say less often, though, because i’m noticing that i chide him for what i deem to be childish behavior with this phrase. for instance, last night as i was putting L to bed, he revealed that he wasn’t tired and that he didn’t want to go to bed. when i reminded him that it was bedtime, he began to cry (bedtime has been quite the struggle lately, which is a different post altogether…). my response to his tears was, of course, to snuggle and offer comfort, but i also uttered this phrase – “you’re a big boy.” however, in this moment, my use of the phrase seemed to emphasize (to me at least) that it’s not okay for big boys to cry, which is far from true. i don’t want him to think that having or attaining “big boy” status means that emotions need to be locked up tightly inside and not shared!
  4. BONUS! here’s what i need to say more often: “it’s okay.” it’s remarkable how much value i place in hearing these words myself – from Jordan, my parents, my colleagues, my friends, etc. – yet how little i utter or share this sentiment with others, and especially with my children.the phrase “it’s okay” offers with it a comfort and a reassurance that is unmatched by any of the phrases that i overuse above. what’s more: the meaning of “it’s okay” – whether it’s “i see that you’re struggling, but i’m here” or “your actions or feelings are not something that i’ll hold against you” – is exactly what i am trying to teach my children to offer to others.

after all, how can i preach kindness and teach grace-filled behavior without offering it myself?