She stands, arms outstretched, under fluorescent lights. She holds up empty shorts, t-shirts, and tanks. Her mother-eyes focus on what is not there, gauging the cloth’s ability to hold, to hug, the ones she loves. Her gaze is fixed just...
My twelve-year-old daughter says there are four eggs in the nest outside her bedroom window. I believe her, because she’s who one sits and watches, keeping an eye on the world around her. // On the night after the Parkland Florida shooting, my oldest...
Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who kill the prophets and stone those sent to you, how often have I longed to gather your children as a mother hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing. Matthew 23:37 Not long after his triumphal entry into...
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...
(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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