i’m trying not to complain. trying to keep it close and finish the summer well. but self-care is real. introverts are real. and one person caring for three people everyday for three months is a draining occupation. i’m past entering in. i’m past getting myself to a yoga class. i’m past a girl’s night out.
we’re eating lunch at a plastic picnic table. my knees barely fit underneath. we’re mere feet away from the trampoline and the swing set. this is how young it starts. my son. my beautiful boy. this kind-hearted, contagious, leader of a boy. he is a song. he looks up from his paper plate and asks
the difficult parts of life don’t come with instruction booklets. it’s just us, hammering out the days we’re given with flesh and blood. it can be a messy business. add to the mix the odd desire to share that process with people on the internet through a blog and it can get messier. or better.
“something is wrong with my voice.” every once in a while mazzy will ask her dad or i this question. “what’s wrong with my voice?” and we know what she means. she means that she loves to sing, but when she opens her mouth it doesn’t sound the same as the songs she adores. she
“let’s go around the room and say whether or not we’d abort if we found out we had a child with down syndrome. okay?” i’m at a book club. only two women in the room know my oldest child. i came because they were reading this book and i was interested to see what they
each night the starry sky waits above us. whether it’s obscured by city light or goes unseen by eyes that won’t look up. it’s waiting there. we drove the kids to southern ohio and saw the stars again for the first time. we took them to the caves. they crawled into the furthest recesses and
i’m more disturbed that my government shot and killed an unarmed woman than that it’s in the midst of shut down. miriam carey was in a compromised mental state brought about by postpartum depression. i don’t know her. i don’t know her story. but she had one. from all accounts she was a law-abiding citizen.
“god gave man and woman the incredible gift of bringing children into the world, of loving and educating. sometimes, however, parents can be disappointed by their children and want them to be other than they are. i have seen the great disappointment in parents when their child is born with a disability. i can understand
while studying sign language i learned that hearing people who have a deaf child regularly do not learn sign language themselves. they don’t learn it even when signing is the preferred mode of communication of their child. it’s a complicated issue with a long history and strong opinions on many sides, but as a student, to
i’ve started to believe a lie. the one that says my daughter is unreachable. that would be the one. that she is happy, content, with her routines and habits and phrases. that’s enough. it’s good enough. that classroom there. the one showing movies everyday. the one where the center tables sit empty and kids sit