Rhonda’s Blog

Just home from an end-of-the-year meeting at school, I get Little his breakfast, grind up the beans, and measure fresh coffee into the filter.  Cream (the real kind) swirls like ribbons

Another thing I’d look for, if I were in the market for a horse, is side airbags.  The BMV has ‘em.  Overprotective mother that I am, they give me a

All the physicians she’d consulted through the years had been of no help.  Desperate, she’d gone to one, then another, and still she bled. Penniless now, hemorrhaging unchecked, she inched

One of our sons, for instance, came packaged with a strong-willed temperament.  He doesn’t give up easily.  When he sets his mind on something, he hangs on with every fingernail,

Then April came, and Dawning Generation, the show choir, appeared at the Maple Syrup Festival.  Family came once more.  And once more, we all cheered, clapping and shouting for them

Looking back at that girly girl, playing with her dolls, I realize now that there was a lot she didn’t know.  This morning over my fresh-ground coffee, this mother of

It was a very special night for them, for the halftime show was to feature the young girls who’d attended cheerleading camp.  For one night, they were going to live

It was the sixth-grade concert, and our own Boy Three was just there to the right, third row up, standing stiffly amidst a sea of his classmates.  That green shirt

It’s there that I always come to again.  The crowds have vanished, and I’m still standing by the washing machine.  Rats.  Still no novel.  I sure wish I could write

He and a host of his tiny friends and classmates had taken their place in the worship service just earlier, waving their palm branches helter skelter as we sang together,