Recently my marriage went through a glorious period where I was ‘newlywed’ in love with my husband, we parented in sychronicity, we finished each other’s sentences--we were the Facebook couple others pretended to be. And in one fell swoop, it ended. We fought--a knock down, drag out fight. The sort reserved for reality shows and soap operas, minus the drink throwing of course. We don’t waste beer and wine.
The Little Girl Who Couldn't Ride
And the little girl believes in the warmth of the sun as she whispers and sings in a raspy and broken voice. The words, those she thinks to be correct, are all wrong. She sings anyway. Her notes rise against the wind, carried high up and away like a balloon she remembered from another summer. She had watched it with wonder until she’d realized what she’d lost, and then she cried until her father promised her a new one.
The Pretty Girl
“Am I pretty?” she asked
as she stared into the full-length closet mirror. A box of clothes waiting to
be unpacked or shipped off to Goodwill, another bit of clutter from her
childhood, dominated the closet. Later, she will fall asleep on the shirts and pants
they have all outgrown.
the seven emotional stages of christmas card picture taking aka why the hell are we doing this again?
It is that time again--the time when I attempt to capture all four of my children looking happy and festive, coordinated and cordial--it is time for the annual taking of the Christmas card picture. The three most frequent questions I get when I tell people this are:
1. Do you have someone take the photos?
No, I answer which leads to the second question...
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