Author: Paul Armstrong

I’m not sure what is going on. Since our trip back from mom and dad’s a few weeks ago things have gotten strange. Sonya and I talked a bit about how it would be nice to actually have family nearby — and how the kids miss them so much. Besides the fact that we love…

It’s a late start for the day. Abbie just got back from (a short day of) her very first day of kindergarten. She’s quite excited, to the point of being angry that she’s not able to be able school — unfortunately full day doesn’t start in it’s entirety till Thursday. Elliott starts preschool next month;…

I’m a coffee addict. I was too tired to roast last night; for fresh beans this morning. I have a splitting headache now – right through the sides of my head. Abbie has just a few more days till she is in kindergarten. Last night there was an ice cream “social” (I put it in…

Driving for hours in the car leads to nothing but over thinking, especially our drive through Pennsylvania and Ohio with kids movies we’ve seen (well, mostly just heard) 25 times or more. Here is some of the random things that were going through my head. “Bug’s Life” is about a war on terror, and the…

My dad told us a fascinating story last night about my grandmother (his mother), and the power of one bad choice to affect many people for a long long long time. My grandmother died around 1999; when Abigail was 5 or 6 months old. For years previous her health had been deteriorating; mostly her mind….

The effects of hurricane Charley are making the kids quite unhappy. Right outside the numerous windows of the house they see the beckoning, crystal blue pool (unlike our home, which outside our one back window you can see weeds, random grasses and some dirt). But it’s raining and cool, and even a heated pool can’t…

I’m listening to the kids giggle till they’re hiccuping, as they play with their granddaddy. The simplest things bring the greatest laughter — and it doesn’t even involve potty humor. It’s a nice break, and joyous to my ears to sense the intimate and innate love they have for their grandparents. But at the same…

I’m back to my roots — the towering trees that darken the windy roads through lush farmland, the musty manure smell of local mushroom farms — everything is familiar, but it’s not home. I’m not sure where I feel home. Anymore, our actual home feels like a cage, a large, old and dusty box that…