You can’t take off naked.… Read More Threats, bluffs, and tears
Ever wish you had an extra air hole to breathe through?… Read More Pneumostome
“Special needs” means just that, a need, not a limitation.… Read More Resuscitation of Hope
It would be dishonest of me to say I don’t miss my old life. I do, but not most of it, just my friends. Ok, and maybe my waistline, being able to talk on the phone, sleeping in, using the bathroom by myself but, still, mostly my friends. New Year’s Eve reminded me of that… Read More I miss me too.
We’re pillow people. Correction, the kids and I are pillow people. My husband is not. He’s one of those folks that could sleep on a bare floor with a block under his head. I, on the other hand, am not such a person. As tough as I might be in other areas of my life… Read More Pillow Power
I have to make the peace sign with my right hand for another week. Of all the moronic injuries this one embarrasses me the most. Avocado hand. Note to self, don’t wield a knife when your toddler is climbing the baby gate to the kitchen, shaking it, and screaming at you as you cut into… Read More Finger crotch.
Bilateral acute otitis media (a.k.a screaming nonverbal child, a.k.a. maternal tinnitus, a.k.a. sudden depression), better known as double ear infection and raging fevers. “Poor baby, he must be in so much pain.” He is and so am I. Physically from being headbutted, scratched, and trying to hold forty pounds of a thrashing body so he… Read More Acute exhaustion.
The day started with being awake for two hours and longing for coffee as I awaited the “surprise” breakfast in bed. I listened to the chaos in the other room and wondered how long till someone cried. All the while feeling guilty for not being more appreciative on the day I’ve been told that everyone… Read More It’s a mother of a day.
This is the closest I’ll ever be to you. I remember laying on my side, rubbing my planetary belly, looking out the window into the night sky, speaking to Nora in my womb. It was the closest she would ever be to me physically yet, even then, separate and unfathomable. Her own heart pattering away,… Read More Grasping at water.
Owen was two. He was speaking seventeen words. He told his dad he loved him. I barely could get him to say “mama”. Home with him every hour of the day and he tells his father, “I love you.” I was Barbara’s jealous resentment. He rarely kissed. If he did it was without using his… Read More Fork you and your words.