novel writing
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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 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
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What I’m experiencing now, and what I don’t remember experiencing with my first kid, is a difficulty in holding onto thoughts or ideas, particularly if they have to do with myself/ my life outside of house and kids. It feels like the outer edge of my brain—the crust, if you will, and perhaps even parts
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Here is the real beginning— I, once again, for the 1576th afternoon in a row aimlessly walk around the house picking things up and putting them in their place. Everything has its place—a mantra for the organized parent, no, let’s be honest: the organized mother. Everything has a place. Does this toy packaging that I
How not to 