Author: Holly Crawshaw

Sunday Rules

On Sundays when I was growing up, it didn’t matter if we were facing imminent danger or in the throes of a natural disaster, we were going to church. Literally, I can’t remember not hearing my mom’s alarm clock go off every Sunday morning at 8:00am—because, of course, church was always preceded by a solid hour of Sunday School (bless those volunteers). My parents could have had World War III with each other on Saturday night. I could have had the measles. My brother could have gotten kidnapped. There was never any question . . . IT WAS SUNDAY...

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What Story Do We Tell?

There’s a lot of my story that I never want my kids to find out. Like the time I cheated on a math test in third grade. I chose to sit out recess for a week just so my teacher wouldn’t call my parents. Or the time I tied sheets together with my friend and “practiced” sneaking out my upstairs window in the middle of the day. (Sidebar: that’s not a super effective method. The sheets came untied when I was halfway down and it’s a miracle I didn’t wind up in the hospital.) Or, only slightly more traumatic,...

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Parenting Through Transition: Confession Of A Recovering Control Freak

I started back to fulltime, in-office work this week, for the first time in over three years. To be honest, my emotions over this transition have swung back and forth like a pendulum: Anxiety. Excitement. Guilt. Pride. Eagerness. Dread. (What? Your pendulum is a little less extreme than mine?) Well, it’s true—transitions make my insides feel like a shaken up (diet) soda can (that I would consider a nutritional victory, naturally). Is that true for you? Does change make you want to pull the blankets over your head and binge-eat chocolate and watch bad/amazing reality TV while ignoring the...

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The Worst Year Ever: 4 Ways to Save Christmas

I have had the worst year ever. I don’t mean compared to other peoples’ years. I’m not so ignorant as to think that I have a particularly hard life when compared to so many others. However. In my world, 2016 has been one heck-of-a roller coaster. But not like a smooth, theme-park-grade roller coaster. I’m talking about a faded, rusty, carnival worker-rigged-contraption that hasn’t been inspected in months and rides like a blind, spooked horse. Yeah. I’m metaphorically sore after this year. Here’s the thing—a lot of it is my fault. (Insert heavy sigh.) But…there were those situations where...

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An Open Letter To The Exhausted Parents of Small Children

What is it about having small children that prompts strangers to offer unsolicited words of wisdom? No, kind lady at Target, I’m not sure I want to hear your birthing story—though I’m sure it’s got the entertainment value of an action film—I’d prefer my curious seven-year-old not have nightmares tonight. So I’ve been keeping my sister’s newborn baby girl one day a week for the last few months. Harlie Grace (HG) is simply perfection. I also have two kids of my own, the seven-year-old, Lilah, and a three-year-old, Ezzy. A few days ago, Ezzy and HG were taking an...

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