Curveballs fly on the news, triggering fear but when one hits home we learn a new level of surrender.

Control is illusive—stringing us along until something snaps.

One year ago this Sunday, my husband Benj hit the pavement in the golden hour of the Costco parking lot and our son Gavin broke his femur. This is how Gavin (4) retells what happened:

"Daddy was running too fast with the shopping cart and it fell over.  I got hurt but Hudsy didn't.  I had a big cast on, that's all."

That's all and then that’s not all.

A decade ago, I left a short-lived teaching career and welcomed my first baby. Making a home-based life didn’t feel natural in those early months.

I struggled to grasp at elusive forms of control—a jail of my own making.

I anticipated birth would be a challenge I could conquer; yet, twenty hours of intense back labor and over three hours of pushing left me reeling (the hardest of six deliveries and the catalyst to midwifery care and home birthing).

Once again, I am packing our trailer as we prepare for our annual fall camping trip. We will celebrate our two little boys’ birthdays, bike through leaves, and read around the campfire as we watch the season change right under our feet.

This is my favorite trip of the year!

I am about to listen to the Lab I:68 podcast like I do every Monday as I fold laundry, but I am a little nervous as this time I will be hearing my own voice chatting on the other end—weird.

I know—sharpened pencils and crisp books tease. Maybe this year we can do all the things and with happy hearts!  Experiments and reports.  Poetry tea time with homemade muffins.

Then history haunts us with our dark moments.

Whether at home, at school, or some new hybrid:

Impatience blending letter sounds, frustration long dividing, confusion logging in, and despair sopping up toddler disasters or a teen’s tears...