Category: writing
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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…
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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…
