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The twins ran to the kitchen shouting, “Mow! Mow!” and I followed to confirm the sighting. For months now they’ve named and claimed every “mower” they see as we drive or walk through town. Every lawn mower,...
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It was the first day of kindergarten. My oldest son and I walked toward the low brick building holding hands and he reached over with his right hand to pull on my wrist, pressing his small hand deeper into the crevasse between my thumb and index...
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This spring, the branches of the weeping cherry tree across the street hung low, heavy with beauty and swirled around the trunk like a woman’s skirts, shifted by the slightest breeze. This too is how my children move, teeming ’round my legs as we set out...
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It dawns on me three loads in that nowhere in the jumble of Daddy’s t-shirts and sister’s skirts, and oodles of onesies and shorts, have I seen a single pair of underwear for my oldest son. Granted, we all know about boys and their underwear,...
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All four kids piled onto the red metal handcart, two in front and two in the back balanced on top of two bags of mulch. I pulled them carefully, slowly, through the lawn and garden section of Lowes, like one of those grand Belgian draft horses you...
