Kelly Blue Book invaluable

July 12, 2015February 14, 2016 ~ Tara R. ~ 5 Comments

To the uninitiated, these represent childhood memories of pretend car races. To me, they symbolize the manifestations of a lifelong obsession, a compulsive obsession. At the tender age of 12, my son was diagnosed with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. His rituals involve small, die-cast toys. Mainly cars, but it can also mean tiny motorcycles, airplanes, military … Continue reading Kelly Blue Book invaluable

Roots and wings

June 16, 2015July 6, 2015 ~ Tara R. ~ 7 Comments

I wanted wings To fly away from the loud voices and angry fists I wanted roots To feel like I was important, cherished I wanted wings To take that plunge out of the nest I wanted roots To know that I could survive on my own I wanted wings To feel the thrill of falling … Continue reading Roots and wings

If wishes were horses

May 6, 2015 ~ Tara R. ~ 3 Comments

I tease my SO about spending a few dollars a week on lottery numbers while I continue trying to win $7,000 a week for life from the ghost of Ed McMahon. Clicking through the inexhaustible pages of yard sale fodder, I keep hoping I’ll find the magical combination of “continues” and search topics to hit … Continue reading If wishes were horses

The world according to Horton

February 6, 2015February 7, 2015 ~ Tara R. ~ 1 Comment

So easy, children Can puzzle out, on their own, Universal truths Learning all they need To be principled adults From Dr. Seuss books

Raising independent children

January 16, 2015January 17, 2015 ~ Tara R. ~ 8 Comments

When I was a kid, around first grade-ish, I walked to school. It was less than half a mile from where I lived, but in my child-mind, and to my pudgy child-legs, it was at least five miles - both ways, up hill, in the snow. Across the street from my school, there was a … Continue reading Raising independent children

Storm’s a’comin’

December 17, 2014December 18, 2014 ~ Tara R. ~ 4 Comments

The shrieking grew shriller as the volume went higher. Coffee mugs rattled on tables, utensils skipped across plate rim, and nerves frayed along tired edges. A blur of pink blew past me, a little sticky hand sweeping my napkin onto the floor. Looking up from my laptop screen, I watched a small whirlwind wreaking havoc … Continue reading Storm’s a’comin’