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Hello from the end of a better day, and the end of the container of shredded Parmesan. I made some writing progress last night, which felt good, but ultimately what difference does it really make? I guess you could say the same thing about showering. Or waking up. Or eating. We do it to do
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Hello from the end of sick time, from wondering if my daughter needs a diagnosis, from going to swim lessons and gymnastics and being happy happy happy to going back in the car and back to screaming and throwing and kicking. Hello from standing in the bedroom, wearing the baby again, swaying because all of
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Hello from the house of unhappy bodies. My almost 5 year old is still sick. She is missing a birthday party today, and the TV is back on, for the 4th day. I really really hate having the TV on, especially during the day. My dog just came inside, limping, then holding up her bad
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Hello from a sick day, again, only 3 weeks after my daughter’s last. Is this normal? I’m not sure. I used to pride myself on her health, owing it solely to the lack of processed foods in our house, the lack of sugar. We are still exclusively eating Ezekiel bread, still cutting up pounds and
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Today is a big day! We are going to start dog walking again. I’m going to bring two children to the dog park, two children, my dog, and our first return client. Soon I will cut up some fruit and make a grilled cheese for the road. We will get in the car and hope
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Hello from Saturday, from standing in the same spot, but without the baby. From a place of fear, but then the dog comes upstairs, with her ball, and I can’t remember what I am afraid of. But the feeling is still there. I hear kids screaming all day long. Sometimes it is coming from my
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Hello, from summer, who is back. Summer is back, but it doesn’t feel the same as it did last week. Or, maybe it does feel how it actually felt, but it doesn’t feel how I remember it feeling, free from guilt and dread and second guessing and decisions that feel impossible. Instead of thinking about
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Hello I say with my T rex arms, shortened because of the extra large 5 month old I have strapped to my chest. Let’s take a breath together. Smell the flowers, blow out the candle. It’s time to decide about that scene, that vestigial scene that doesn’t quite fit anymore. That’s the problem with editing
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When our foster cat Tilly died, I couldn’t move her body. We were approaching summer, and our dog had pawed at our screen door, breaking it. So, the flies were coming inside, and Tilly was downstairs. Dead. My husband had just bought a stack of cedar, so Tilly’s room smelled like sweet wood, and her
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Hello from role playing art camp. I am the teacher. My daughter is herself, and her baby brother is her best friend. He, as best friend, will come into my daughter’s room (held by me, his face expectant and smiling because he loves being a part of things) and we will practice saying hello. Hopefully, this
How not to 