i had a dream last night about bloggers who write about their children with down syndrome. some are so famous online that you’d recognize them in public. in the dream i was walking by lake michigan and a mother had set up her kids for a photo shoot complete with lighthouse in the background. mazzy
my dad was back in the stacks and the snow wasn’t stopping outside. big, fat snowflakes falling themselves down on the lucky streets of ann arbor, michigan. i looked over and saw my husband considering yet another collection of words to stick into his brain. what a beautiful night. my mother was watching the kids.
i smell her hair. strawberry shortcake. thin arms and legs with a head too large for any human body. i inhale and wish for the scented air i remember from the doll of my youth. i would have taped that doll to my face like i once tried to tape mazzy’s pacifier to her head
christmas was as close as i came to jesus as a child. i wasn’t told the story. there wasn’t a countdown to the manger in my house. i didn’t hear about the blessed virgin turned away at the inn ad nauseum. instead my brother and i helped my mom assemble the christmas tree in the
“do not let your hearts be troubled. believe in god, believe also in me.” a few weeks back i took a risk. i have a precious friend. maybe you have one. i say precious because you feel the luck when you’re with them. they are a kind of marvel across the table from you and
my daughter told me i have a beautiful heart and that i needed to keep my peace, keep my calm, so the morning after the election i ended up at a yoga class. the instructor arrived and unlocked the door. she was a young black woman. she said good morning and i said it back.
i like voting. i like being anonymous and alone in a voting booth. i like how quiet it is and how no one else can come in, look over my shoulder and tell me who to vote for. i like the polished gymnasium floors i have to walk across and the people sitting in metal
i went to a wedding last month. the church was in the middle of nowhere. mazzy and i drove miles and miles through fields of corn and vineyards. the western side of michigan has vineyards. rows and rows of grapes waiting to be turned into something else. or maybe not. maybe they’ll stay grapes. maybe
that will shakespeare really knew what he was saying. “And summer’s lease hath all too short a date.” ain’t it the truth? i decided that summer is like one long day and by mid-july i knew that the evening was coming on. i told someone my theory and they said, “but summer nights are the
they put her in a white robe. it was her birthday. eight years old. it was easter and she had decided to get baptized. i don’t know what to think about baptizing an eight year old. can a child really understand the decision that they are making? the commitment that they are proclaiming with the