Category: Jack
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The trash can was full—swollen, really—like it had been holding its breath all day waiting for me to notice. I tied the bag with the resigned strength of a woman who has done this chore so many times her hands move before her brain does. The boys thundered down the stairs behind me, the air…
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She had done it. She had sat down. Not perched, not hovered, not half-squatted with one butt cheek still in motion—fully sat. The couch welcomed her like a long-lost friend. Her spine sighed. Her coffee wept with gratitude. And then—they came. Jack (7), with the stealth of a ninja and the urgency of a man…
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By Jack, 7 I walk into the kitchen and Mom is just… standing there. Oblivious. Living her life. Not knowing the things I know. And honestly, it’s time someone helped her. I clear my throat. Loudly. Twice.She doesn’t look up.This is already going poorly. So I step directly into her line of sight and say,…
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It began like any normal day. I was minding my business, holding Puppy Dog Tequila like a shield, when Dad suddenly yelled, “GET ‘EM!” and launched himself at me and Jack like a giant, laughing monster. I screamed. Jack screamed. Dad screamed. It was a chorus of chaos. Dad tackled us onto the carpet. I…
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Last night I asked my mom a thing that made her eyebrows freeze: “Do you think God gets hungry, Mom? Does He like grilled cheese?” I pictured Him up in the clouds, just sitting on His knees, and maybe angels bring Him snacks whenever He says please. Then I asked, “Who made God first? Did…
