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Kara

Mom. Writer. Editor. Hopeful children’s book author. Hopeful embroider. Lover of antique tea cups. Traveling. Yoga. Conversation + friends + wine + fire. Handmade jewelry. Hydrangea in bloom. Morning toast with butter + coffee. Perfume, even when staying home. Deep, wrap-around front porches. Books. Ocean. Dance parties with my children. Sunrises. Sunsets. Constellations I don’t know the names of. Full moon. Want to contact me? E-mail me at kara.uhl@gmail.com.

Andy

Dad. Web developer. Gamer. Sports fan. Lover of softball. Fantasy sport. Video games. Board games. Card games. Mind games.

Sophie Olivia

Daughter. Five years old. Lover of painting. Dancing. Singing. Puzzles. Back scratches. Ramona. Swirly slides. Swirly dresses. Dessert. Convincing us she can have more dessert. Homemade forts. Running from the Tickle Monster. Princesses. Parties. Pink.

Owen Oscar

Son. Two years old. Lover of trains. Fire trucks. Buses. Things on wheels that go. Train sets. Thomas. Being held upside down. Eskimo kisses. Pointing out the moon.

James Orion

Son. Two years old. Lover of pirates. Ships. Jake. Climbing. Back scratches. Being tickled. Snuggling under a blanket. Food.

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    Cleaned under the couch today. allergy eyes, Peeps on a stick, Wednesday Andy and I traveled to Italy by way of Paris the day after our October wedding in 2004. Going on no sleep we walked from our teeny tiny hotel room to Notre Dame, sat on one of those benches in the picture and, heads on each other's shoulders, fell deeply asleep. No one bothered us, or our cameras and belongings. We slept for a long time. And when we woke, we laughed at ourselves –– finally arriving in Paris, and promptly falling asleep. And then we toured one of the most magnificent works of art I've ever seen. Perhaps the loved Dostoevsky quote, "Beauty will save the world," has more merit than I once believed. For while there is no good in today's tragedy, there is, dare I say, espérance, for in this moment we have found something that binds us all –– the love of great beauty in this messy existence we share and our very real grief over its loss. OU in the sweet springtime. My sunny hummus on a sunflower seed bagel was as good as always. My sister let me tell her stories as we drove around campus and even humored me when I asked the guy coming out of 69 Stewart if the middle bedroom (mine, many years ago) still has pink shag carpet (it does not). I have such love for this small patch of earth, the time I spent here and the fierce friendships made. Patty Griffin + Lucy Wainwright Roche , burgers and beer at The Mine Tavern, a sweet little b&b (the pictured room was only our room for about 10 minutes until we were kicked out and given the much smaller room we paid for — we wondered how we got so lucky!), tomorrow tromping around my old stomping grounds, Athens. celebrating my sister’s birthday with one of our favorite artists in a beautiful old opera house on this fine spring night home office (not attic!) view. I have this weird theory that if we didn’t have the sky, moments like this would be considered fine art. I often worry about our small living room as we grow. There’s no family room. Den. Bonus room. When the house is filled with people I simply fill the living room with seats: dining chairs, stools, the piano bench, a floor pillow. We make do. But where are all the teenage legs going to go? I worry. And then I observe any normal day, our couch filled with two adults, two kids and a cat. And if Sophie wanted to pile in with us, there’d be room. You make room. I still scour Craigslist for a sectional that will miraculously fit our space. But then I also think of the first night my sister and I each had our own room (I missed her). And why Andy and I don’t necessarily want a king-size bed. How Tucker would always get up, come to us and lie back down again, just to be next to us. How Andy, who claims to hate Jupiter (our cat) but secretly loves him, built steps for Jupiter so the cat-he-loves-to-hate could continue to sleep with Sophie who recently moved into a loft bed. Our kids, still, sometimes seek our laps despite empty chairs. Smallness forces closeness. I admit to a ping of jealousy when I’m in a house with multiple rooms for sitting, with space to breathe. I feel like it would all be easier (dreams I have: first-floor laundry, a garage, two full baths, the ability to blow-dry Sophie’s hair without unplugging the car). But even the best dreams come with a price. And right now this pic of this random weekday night is pretty darn dreamy to me. Me, 12,000 times/day: “Kids! Drew! Look at how beautiful the tree looks!” (So far, they’re all still humoring me.) The boys were helping me run errands and while buying toiletries at Target they asked if they can have deodorant too, like Sophie. I was too tired to put any real thought into it so I said yes. James immediately picked some out. “Are you sure?” I asked. “What about the kind Dad uses? Maybe there’s a kid version. What about these natural ones?” “MOM,” James said. “We have to get this kind. This is the kind they make for twins.” “Yeah, Mom,” Owen said. “It’s the twin pack!” We were at Lowe’s today and Sophie bought that Restrooms sticker and put it on the boys’ bedroom door and then she filled their room with toilet paper. The boys f.l.i.p.p.e.d. o.u.t. Once we got them to stop screaming we explained the best way to deal with a prank is to prank the other person back. Well, the boys decided to one-up us on this and declare war. (I said fine, as long as they waited until I bought some cheap toilet paper.) Sophie and I are on team Ninja Kitties (I was not allowed to be on the naming committee.) We’ve had a good spring break but school tomorrow will be nice, too. 🧻 Spring! This kid had a minor medical issue (all is fine) and the doctors at Children’s included a line in the take-home instructions that said “The doctor recommends STARBUCKS — Stat!!!”. I was so grateful for this small measure of humor and kindness, and this resulting smile. (And Sophie loved her first-ever Starbucks drink, a Very Berry Hibiscus something or other.) Thankful for CCHMC (today and many times in the past) and thankful for one of the most caring, patient and kind team of doctors and nurses we’ve ever encountered. Sometimes I feel like I can’t breathe, not living out in the country. But having a place like this, minutes away, is one of the (many) positives of living where we do. Lizz and Eric drove to Kentucky from Atlanta to spend the weekend with all of us and to help celebrate Sophie’s birthday. The day they arrived my three kiddos fought with each other at our house all morning but their cousins must be magic bc the fighting all but stopped once we arrived at Jill’s house and they held Freya and clapped whenever Carmen showed us how high she could jump. The picture of the boys’ backs ... they were showing off their wet pants (and butts) which they had valiantly used to dry the slide so Carmen could slide down it. But the slide was quite steep and, once at top, Carmen was “too busy” to slide down it. I sure wish we all lived closer to each other. Freya slept in that space above my chest down to my belly button and I swear that’s like a drug, a baby snuggled on you like that. And kudos to Lizz and Eric for making the drive with two little little ones. Our turn, next time. ❤️ 11 “I think she is growing up, and so begins to dream dreams, and have hopes and fears and fidgets, without knowing why or being able to explain them.” — Louisa May Alcott O+J introducing their cousin Carmen to childhood at 8. I always tell Sophie how, before she was born, the daffodils hadn’t bloomed. But on the way home from the hospital, they had all opened up. And they were all so beautiful. I’ve become increasingly suspicious of the fact that, for the past 10 years, the daffodils have bloomed prior to March 30. Had it been a late spring, almost 11 years ago? Had the daffodils been in bloom and I just hadn’t noticed? Have I inadvertently bent the truth a bit over the years, for the sake of story? I question only because I’m so intently aware of all the details that make up these late March days. The sweet smell of spring that’s outside right now; the blooming daffodils murky in memory; when it’s, as Dickens wrote, summer in the light and winter in the shade — these are minutiae I breathe in deeply for they make up the season in which I became a mother.
    TAP

  • Favorite Essays

    Choosing Compassion in a Culture of Fear

    Seeking the Bigness in the Everyday

    The Love in Trying

    The View from Up High

    Season of Innocence

    The Huffington Post guest post: Apologies to the Parents I Judged Four Years Ago, a TIME's top 10 opinion piece in 2012

    Simple

    Changing Love

  • Things I Love

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