I was standing at the sink, distracted by ordinary chores like the dishes, which occupied my hands, and the radio, which occupied my thoughts. In truth, neither was fully engaging my attention because the other things I had to do that day tugged at my mind like a toddler's insistent hand on my hem. The sort of things that require organization and coordination and result in a functioning household, but the doing of which add up to hours of time and nothing more measurable than a good dinner and clean underpants.
It will seem like miles away for anyone with babies, those tender urgent armfuls of possibility and responsibility,
and you're sure you'll raise your kids to know better, and of course you’ll read aloud the best kind of stories, the ones that foster self esteem and social intelligence and sweet dreams,
Does your day lack even a moment to go to the bathroom unaccompanied, let alone contemplate where to find a more than a sticky juice glass for a handfull of quickly-wilting ditch flowers?
When it comes to motherhood, we all live in glass houses in one way or the other. Some people put up more blinds. Some are brave enough to stand in front of the windows naked.
The sun shone, we were away in a beautiful place filled with happy family memories. The eggs had been hidden and found. I was planning our lunch when I heard the tremulous call from the bedroom:
We were driving on a two-lane coastal highway after having dinner at a burger place in town. Hoping to savour one of the last lingering summertime evenings before school’s inflexible arrival we skipped dessert at the restaurant because we wanted to go back and make a fire to roast marshmallows for s’mores.
Disclaimer: If you want a Valentine’s Day as filled with sweetness as a marshmallow heart, then this post is not for you. This Valentine is more of a dark chocolate pecan cluster: chewy, nutty, bittersweet. May stick in your teeth.
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