Hi! I'm Kelly.

As a writer, I've always been interested in family stories. When I heard of a Satanic cult in my family tree, I thought I'd found the story of a lifetime. Read more.

You wouldn't want them to eat you.

You wouldn't want them to eat you.

My journal entries are increasingly fragmented lately.

It's the only way I can write at all these days: by capturing little snippets in between making the boys oatmeal, changing diapers and picking up toys. I barely remember writing them; their messages come as a surprise. 

Obscurity is a tool. Approaching blogging as a life tool instead of a marketing tool. Embracing PLAY. Marketing as a tool that I can use to serve me and my life. Not an obligation. 

Cleaning things up for public consumption versus leaving them in their original state. Maybe they're meant to be that way. Maybe their messiness communicates something important. 

Early motherhood like the fire of a kiln. 

While walking back to the car after our playdate yesterday, the boys and I came across a churchyard full of painted rocks.

Some were broken; others had worn away to leave funny messages behind. They all looked so pretty scattered among the autumn leaves. 

RestRelaxRestoreRock.jpg

It's tempting to paint some message rocks of my own. I could hide a few in the flower beds, and others in the shrubs outside the office. Colorful little reminders of the things I want to keep in mind. 

Instead, I have chicken scratch in a ratty spiral-bound notebook. But it, too, helps. 

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Poor monkey.

Poor monkey.

Autumn Things

Autumn Things