Like the Eskimos with snow, the English language has so many words for happy.

Confession? School is kicking my ass. Another confession? I love it.

Yesterday, I made a list of all the foods I want to eat before I leave.

In eighth grade, frustrated by what seemed like a complete lack of athleticism and coordination, an inability to catch any object thrown my way, I joined the cross country team.

These past three years (only three) are so crammed with happy noise that it spills over the edges and fills every empty space inside of me.

We are two parents and two daughters, of which I am the oldest.

This plane has been chasing the sunrise.

This transitional summer has not been kind.

Never before has a place so exhausted and exhilarated me.