Author: emilypmiller

A journalist and mom, working on her mom-print - the lasting imprint she will leave on her children.
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Grandma Says to Pull Out A Brick!

“This past summer I came across a stash of letters written to me by the greatest writer I have yet to truly know, my Grandma Agnes. She wrote to me often during my college years, her letters always typewritten, each word carefully chosen. What’s incredible is as much as I loved receiving her letters then, as a young journalism major, her words are even more meaningful and relevant to my life now.

As word got to her that I seemed “depressed” transitioning to college life far from family, she encouraged me to journal — “not to be confused with keeping a diary”, she cautioned. “God may want you to know that you need not fight any battles alone. Admit your need and limitations.”

journal Agnes

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How a Mom Wearing Ripped Jeans Saved Me and My Family

“Mommy, why are her pants ripped?” my three-year-old daughter asked LOUDLY with a voice of concern.

I didn’t have an answer.

“Mommy,” she asked again, “why?” insisting I reply.

The soccer mom passing us by — wearing jeans ripped like she’d been attacked by wolves — overheard her question.

“It was my cat,” she said, trying to save me with a laugh.

But my daughter just looked more worried. Then my five-year-old son two steps behind followed up with the same question, “Mom, is she okay? Why are her jeans so ripped?”

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Family Is Worth All The Fuss

Every summer my family makes the 550-mile journey to my family’s farm in central Illinois, where century-old barns bulge with ravenous pigs and the farmhouse fills up with two dozen more mouths to feed.

It’s no wonder we meet up on Grandpa and Grandma’s farm, the only place imaginable to feed all these growing grandkids. Here, the harvest is plenty — Grandma’s zuchinni bread and pork noodle casserole, Grandpa’s daily pick of green beans, and Aunt Molly’s hidden vegetable Yum Yum as I call it. Because whatever we ate could compete with Grandma’s Yummy bars!

But as much time as we spend serving up seconds, somehow these little creatures with monster appetites feed us, the adults, more. Where else can you find a friendly cricket-catching competition, a sidewalk turned into a two-wheeler highway and unscripted plays with a cast of cousins? These curious cousins — as lively as crickets caught in a critter jar — feed our lust for life, for love, for family.

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Greetings From Camp Boredom!

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reetings from Camp Boredom where the Millers are anything but bored! Four weeks into our summer of intentional boredom (how does boredom pass so fast?!) and many parents are itching like a kid covered in bug bites for the Camp Director’s update.

I gather there’s a well-founded fear that my campers  — and the Camp Director — may not come out of this camp alive. Or perhaps what’s closer to the truth: The Camp Director may not be sane for enrolling her kids in a camp, well, that’s not a real camp.

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Daddy Deserves the Funky Foot Rub

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iled onto our beloved beige couch last Sunday, our family watched the show of a lifetime: The Daddy Foot Show. Thong after tossed thong, we watched with great anticipation as Daddy’s feet flung his footwear into the air. You may find this strange, and slightly absurd, but this family memory is one of my all-time favorites. Truth.