Motherhood
-
Initially, my instructions were, “don’t fill your boots with water.” I say this to my daughter as she rolls a Tonka truck toward an irresistible puddle and eyes me — sizing up how much she’ll get away with. It’s cute, isn’t it, how I’ve been a mother for almost nine years, and I still think
-
I am up at 1:00 am to the sound of my daughter coughing. I find her stumbling, half-asleep toward my bedroom. She’s scooped into my arms and placed quietly back into bed. A hand to her forehead, then a thermometer. The fever pulsing through her body for nearly a week fights on. I stumble downstairs,
-
I always get up early hoping for a few quiet minutes before my children wake up. I’m usually successful at the waking up early part but rarely successful at the getting ahead of my kids part. They fully endorse Anna’s words in Frozen: “The sun’s awake so I’m awake.” And so they are, every morning at
-
I miss writing and telling stories. The last few years really sucked the creative energy out of me and somewhere along the way, I decided I don’t have anything to say — anything worth saying, worth reading, anything that hasn’t already been written or read. Be that as it may, I miss words and stories.
-
I realized yesterday that my children just assume I can always hear them. I can be on a different floor on the other side of the house and they will start a conversation with me just the same as if I were sitting across the couch from them. Yelling a conversation through the house does
The Wheat Princess 