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Cameron Reeves Poynter
12 followers -
Writer at Lucky Orange Pants
Writer at Lucky Orange Pants

12 followers
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I have always measured time not by the turning of calendar pages from one year to the next, but rather by the beginning of a school year. Maybe it’s a vestige from having spent the better part of 2 decades in the educational system. Maybe it’s my stubborn…
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Here we go again. A new crop of smug articles about how participation trophies are creating a generation of entitled brats. Can we step off the ledge and be honest for a second? You and I both know that a participation trophy isn’t making kids believe…
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You are their first home. Your breath is theirs. Your food is theirs. Your body is the sanctuary in which they grow, protected, until they can live in the world. From the moment they enter this world, arms and feet flailing against the cold brutish air,…
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This is hard, this season of life. Marriage is hard. Not hard like when our babies were young. When hard meant tired half-conversations that took place as we passed each other in hallways and meals scarfed down in turns, not together. No, this season of…
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Valentine’s Day is my kind of day. Not just because of the proliferation of chocolate or the explosion of hearts cut out of construction paper. No, I love Valentine’s Day because it is a day devoted to loving hard. I firmly believe that small acts of love…
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We expend so much emotional capital waiting. Waiting for the weekend, for a new job, for when we have more money, for Christmas, for the right timing, for some magical time and place where the stars align. But the truth is, friends, happiness isn’t a…
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When Billy and I got engaged, we immediately leapt upon the idea of a winter wedding, both because of our mutual disdain for sweating and my blisters. But as seemingly befalls all Reeves events that are geared toward cold weather, it was a balmy 75…
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When your first born says he wants a date night with you – just you – you scrap your holiday party plans and trade your cocktail dress for your Lucky Orange Pants to drive to Charlottesville for this. In those early days, when your babies want you, just…
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We make things. A million times a day. We make beds and appointments and late night trips to the drugstore for ibuprofen. We make time, even when there is none. For the school project. For the friend who needs to feel loved. For the little hands reaching…
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I am too much for some. I am not enough for others. I am a failure in a hundred ways every day, but I think I am victorious at more. I am loud and opinionated and at times bursting with bravado. Yet a careless word or a cold shoulder brings me to my…
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