Need to get your party started? Call the McCoy Clan.
Ever wonder what that smooth-talking son of mine looks like on the radio? Meet son Grady McCoy IV who, with the rest of his family, is having the time of his life while celebrating the newlyweds Olivia and James in the photo above.
Another “McCoy Boy!”Meet Arthur Ellis McCoy, weighing in at 8lbs. 3 oz. on Tuesday, August 16th. He is beyond precious.
We’ve had backyard chickens for years. We first got them when the boys were still living at home. Taking care of pets is a great way to learn responsibility. After the kids left and the last chicken died, we were chicken-less, for a time; all our chicks had flown the coop.
“Baby Wedding” is the name son Jack coined for this past weekend’s whirlwind of baby showers and parties.
What a week. After the Supreme Court’s overturn of Roe vs Wade that has ALL women reeling in their emotions, I went to Florida to work.
Son Mattie’s time is about to get more precious.
Did I tell you that, in August, I am going to be a grandmother, again? It has been 12 years since we have had a new baby in the family and everybody, including the menfolk, are vying for the new baby’s attention.
At the end of a long Mother’s Day, Grady said to me, “Sorry you had to work so hard.” My reply was honest and simple: “I enjoyed it.”
My mother always said, no matter how old her children got, she wanted to see where they lived. That it made her rest better. And now, that is the way I feel, too.
After a year of good citizenship, social distancing, and following the vaccine protocol of the CDC, we McCoy’s decided it…
There is no scientific proof that war is ingrained in human nature, according to a study by Brian Ferguson, professor of anthropology at Rutgers University-Newark.
But I don’t need scientific proof to know that every Fall, as deer season approaches, my husband and late father would get an itch. A drive to get outdoors, feel the change of season, and shoot something.
During our second Miami work week, Grady’s parents came to town.
Ann, having grown up on the beach in California, was energized by the childhood sensory memories created by the sights, sounds, and beach smells.
My ex-husband, Ron Thompson, used to say I was the only person he knew that could wear ten colors below the ankle.
Marking time with important life events is as old as time as itself. There is the birth of your children, when you moved into your home, the death of a loved one and, of course, anniversaries, which grow more astounding as you grow older.
When getting ready for work or play, I occasionally enjoy listening to Pitbull’s Sirius XM station and jumping up, half-dressed, to dance in front of the mirror. This past Sunday morning, as I painted on my face, I tuned in and noticed the DJ kept asking callers if their family’s Easter celebration was more religious or social. Many listeners said both–and all followed up with praise and gratitude for their full family and life.
For many of us, this Christmas will be different. As I sit and think about my growing grandchildren, I reflect on Christmases past.
My parent’s generation thought of dogs as animals. In my generation, they were elevated to family pets. And now, in the homes of millennials, they are treated as children.
I love flower arranging, cooking, and being outdoors, but gardening is not my jam. The ground is just too far down there, and it wreaks havoc on my nails. But my son, Gray, loves the soil and the science of plants. He gardens without gloves!
Since mother’s passing in 2018, my sister and I haven’t seen each other much, though we keep vowing to make time to get together for lunch. There’s no particular reason for this sabbatical, just a lot of little ones. We live 45 minutes from each other, and after years of serious end-of-life communications about our mother, it’s felt good to have a reprieve from speaking. Then, the uncertainty of Covid-19 happened. And lastly, like many families, we are of opposing political views, so waiting to visit after the election seemed like a nice idea.
My parents could be labeled average people, they were steadfast citizens with a moral compass and an honest bias. Growing up, my siblings and I never encountered drinking problems, violence, or infidelity from within our family. I was lucky to have been born to them.
You know, mothers know everything. Early on, I knew -and my mother knew- my first born, cherub-like son was probably gay.
