Posts by Harriet Turk

Sometimes, when I look at Andrew, I can’t believe he’s not a little boy. He’s almost 13, and is turning into a handsome young man.  He is becoming more private and won’t let me into his world as easily.  I know this is all part of the process, but sometimes it’s just hard.  I’m thankful…

*Last night Andrew and I were putting up Halloween decorations.  I remembered this blog I’d written a couple of years ago.  Thankfully, I will again be home this year.   “She’s never here for Halloween.”  When I heard my son say those words to my friend, my head did a 180-degree turn.  “What the heck…

**I’ve written my blogs  the last few years, and just now choosing to publish them.  This is one that was written a few years ago.  Andrew doesn’t like to snuggle anymore, but, I’m still tired. 🙂   Andrew wants me to sleep with him. I would love to snuggle, but all I can think about…

I remember the first time I heard Lyle Lovett sing “Flyin’ Shoes.”  I had to play it over and over again. I especially loved the verse and chorus: Day’s full of rain The sky’s coming down again I get so tired Of these same old blues Same old song And baby it won’t be long…

[cue music] … I don’t get flowers anymore. I used to get them all the time. When we were outside and flowers were near, Andrew would always pick a few and present them to me with intense focus and an expression of undying love. [crescendo] The flowers always wilted within a few hours, but they…

“Mom, will you play foosball with me?”  Foosball.  The very last thing I wanted to do.  Sitting at my desk, I was trying to work on some airfare for my upcoming speaking engagements.  “Mom, will you?” Andrew said again. After asking for a foosball table for months, I finally bought him a nice one for…

Andrew: Hey, Mom … Mom … MOM, can we have a bunny?   Me: (without even looking up) No. Andrew: Why not?  Me: We just can’t. Andrew: You’re so mean. I’m sick of it.   Whoa … halt. Immediately, I want to look up from my book and lecture him on respect. Instead, I breathe.…

There was an artist at my church—painting as the band played music. I was captivated by her movements, watching her brush strokes define the abstract. Suddenly, a little boy of two or three emerged from the audience and made a beeline for the stage. He was holding a paintbrush. The artist, though startled, leaned down,…

I can’t stand that book, “I’ll Love You Forever,” by Robert Munsch. Even though it’s a classic, and one that’s given to many new moms, it’s one I cannot read. I used to try to read it to Andrew because he loved the little boy on the cover. So, every night I’d try. I never…