Category: writing
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To the Keepers of the Hot Glue Guns and the Architects of Parental Peril: Stop. Put the felt down. Step away from the “Small-Batch Artisanal Moss.” We are standing on the precipice of a sensory-overload-induced breakdown. What started as a benign fat man in a red suit has mutated into a year-round, high-stakes theatrical production.…
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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…
