It’s that time again. Another new month, another chance to take stock of how we are living the majority of our moments unplugged as a family. I could never begin to show you all the myriad and diverse ways that plays out, but here is this month’s glimpse. Less than an hour, Jeremiah dressed up as Max, riding his car and jumping on the trampoline, taking off the hot, sweaty suit and heading in for a cool bath. And Aaron and David taking turns with some mechanical contraption Aaron won at school. It’s the simple things, it really is. Make sure to head over to Childhood Unplugged for more inspiration from the project’s contributors. And follow along on Instagram where this DEFINE student project has turned into a worldwide movement.



He makes shields out of paper plates. Captain America, Captain Ninja, Captain Dinosaur. Unplugged and running wild with his imagination. Check out more unplugged inspiration and images for June here.



Motherhood was baking pies, and the books she would read. And the way I could melt into her chest warm with a hug. The way her shoulder smelled next to her hair, and the look in her eyes when I would come up for air.

And I thought I would never be a mother because I could not bake pies, I didn’t even want to. But I read them books like a lifeline. I doubt I am as soft or warm or that I smell as good, but I give them words on pages, floating through the air, and I turn the pictures for them to see just as she did. Now she and I pretend to argue and dance in the kitchen, all grown up we are.

She holds all of her children and I do not. Sometimes it feels it’s because she knows more of mothering than I do. But what of all the mothers that have never held a single child to call their own?

Each of us, we women, hold the seeds of life inside. We are gardens and we are wombs. We are a gathering round the table. We are more than cooks and chauffeurs, we are more than empty arms. We are a giving of life, each in our own way, made by our maker to be a sacred place in time and space that life flows through. In blood and pain, loss and disappointment, still we dig our hands deep into the earth and somehow beyond us and through us comes life. All we can ever do is be the shoulder that their heads lay against when the day is long, the words floating off pages, the nourishment and laughter over plates full, the warm place when night falls quiet.


  • Sue - Such beautiful tender words and images.ReplyCancel


My kids don’t have everything, but what they do have is made of dirt and sunshine, the moon, stars, ocean breezes and moments wasted. Moments invested in something they can hold and feel and smell and taste. I know it’s not the typical childhood these days to not even own an iPad, but I like to think we are keeping something alive, we are continuing the childhood that has lived for centuries covered in mud and filled with imaginings. They occasionally gather round our desktop computer to learn how to make bracelets and knit hats, and they dig and bounce and climb for days. This year I joined a collaborative project of photographers and parents encouraging and documenting their kids as they spend time away from screens, getting their hands dirty. Here is my monthly snapshot of some unplugged moments and you can see more on Childhood Unplugged,



“We haven’t stopped running, but we are getting slower. We have little people running with us now. We have passed others. Our own people will pass us. They will grow and meet others who are young and strong and they will feel as if they are part of the very beginning of life. We may fall on our knees or into a final sleep, but we will see the inside of that storm. We will see the other side of that storm, where there is no death from living. The young will mark the sand with a stone and gather round to scatter words on the wind and ponder the speed of time, of life, of grace. I do it now.”

– from Death by Living by N.D. Wilson

This November we drove across the country to my childhood home for Thanksgiving. In the morning before we stuffed ourselves with turkey and mashed potatoes we hiked through McCormicks Creek, the state park  I adventured in as a young girl. It felt like time was coming full circle and spinning on forever as I watched my boys run through the same paths and waterfalls that I played in at their age. I wrote a short piece on fleeting moments and capturing time inspired by this hike. It’s available in the spring issue of the magazine Deeply Rooted and you can order a copy here. Below are some new favorite images from that day.


11-2014 . McCormicks Creek hike on Thanksgiving morning during our cross country road trip to Indiana . images of me by Jesse

  • homeskool - we lived that day:)ReplyCancel

  • Sharon Covert - Sharon, these are fantastic. I feel like I was there and I want to go back and relive it again and again!ReplyCancel