Category: writing
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I will not nap today. I declare this from the hallway like a warrior king announcing war. It is Saturday — the holiest of days — and naps are for weekdays, peasants, and babies who don’t understand freedom. I am none of those things. Mom kneels down and says, “Buddy, you’re tired.” I gasp. Tired?…
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The guest bed had never seen such power.Not during holidays.Not during Mimi’s visits.Not even during that one time Pookie Cat tried to claim it as her winter estate. Tonight, it belonged to Jack and James, two brothers sprawled across a mountain range of pillows like tiny emperors of comfort. The comforter was rumpled just enough…
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James approached the ottoman with the slow, deliberate steps of a man who was moment an away from giving a life altering speech. He sipped his juice box like it was a stress coffee. He stared at his council — Tequila (Right), Little Tequila (Left)… and now… A third. A newcomer. An unvetted citizen. James…
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With Jack’s 8th birthday approaching in May, I’ve been thinking about the summer he was born. Not just the soft parts, but the parts that left a mark. Back then, the ink on his birth certificate was barely dry when the whispers of healthcare professionals shifted. They weren’t asking about his latch anymore; they were asking…
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We got a new toy. Well, it’s “new” to us, which is code for “rescued from someone else’s chaos closet where toys go to plot their revenge.” Jack immediately struts in like he’s applying for a union job, slaps on the imaginary hard hat, and declares himself Garage Foreman of All Levers Everywhere. His first…
