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We go up to heaven and down to hell a dozen times a day – at least, I do. And the discipline of work provides an exercise bar, so that the wild, irrational motions of the soul become formal and creative. – May Sarton in Journal of a Solitude Seated...
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My twin boys, now six, are still little enough to let me sneak a snuggle. So, I do, as often as I can. I tuck their sleep-warmed bodies close in the morning and press my aging cheek to their soft skinned faces. I drink in the profile of their noses...
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(Re-posting this story, originally written when the twins had just turned four, because every year I dread the CANDY, CANDY, CANDY of Halloween and, every year, my kids’ joy and excitement help lead me through.) I hate Skittles. I do not want to, as the...
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(Sophia, happy as a clam, in her Daddy’s pick up truck.) A heavyset, gray-haired man, short and jovial, honed in on my cautious, serious daughter the moment she arrived. She was eight or nine at the time. He was a volunteer at Vacation Bible School...
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Cold rain turned his thin, white t-shirt translucent as he bent his body, like an umbrella, over the double stroller. The newborn baby cried and he cradled it against his chest with one hand while rooting in a diaper bag with the other. The girl, a...
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Some days, after working in my office all morning and eating a quick lunch at my desk, my body grows heavy and slow and my thoughts turn to molasses. With just an hour left before the first child arrives back home, before I leave to work an evening shift at the...
