Footsteps up the driveway, hours too early. Clinking of keys on the hook, coins in the can, wallet on the counter.
All tagged parent
Footsteps up the driveway, hours too early. Clinking of keys on the hook, coins in the can, wallet on the counter.
I’m helping Jessie cook chicken in the wok. It’s cold outside, but warm in here.
Three texts. Nine words. "The baby died. I’ve miscarried. There was no heartbeat."
Tantrum. We've dealt with her public meltdowns for years.
“Rock, scissors, paper, shoot!” His tiny hand forms a fist which I tenderly enclose within my own, wishing as I do that I’ll never have to let it go.
The four of us sat together on the bed he and I had shared, where we woke to classical music, where he brought me coffee, where their bright faces greeted us in the morning …
She came out crying, holding her right arm. To my untrained eye, nothing seemed broken.
In the morning on my birthday, my mother texted “Happy Birthday.” Texting instead of calling … strange.
Climbing trees, skinning knees, falling off bikes, go-carting down hills, building things, breaking things, getting lost in the woods, and floating down rapids—everything was fair game until that time my brother and I tried a physics experiment.
I drive the coast road through my childhood and teenage years. When I reach the spot where I’m the one who makes the decisions, I pull over for a moment.
"Hurry up in the shower!" I yell, as my son's bathing quickly drains all the hot water from the tank. This was never a problem in the school years, when there was a natural order to things and school started early in the morning.
Pinch your nose, I tell him. He’s half crying, half giggling as I wipe his hands and face, as I remove his bloody clothes.
I know. I dreamt it last night. A giggling tow-headed toddler girl skipping away from me in a meadow. That’s how I knew last time.
“We played Covid today.” He dipped his graham cracker in Nutella. I stopped with his milk half poured.
Mom pushes in between her two Ragdoll cats, Sophie and Angel, feeling their warmth. She squints at the light coming in through the beige blinds and abruptly shifts, causing Sophie to jump up.
Jasper raced into the house and hollered, “Adrian’s been hit by a car.” I rolled my eyes. (Jasper lived a life of excitement even when none existed.)
Carried into the room, you were still and quiet. I thought to myself, “He is incredibly handsome.” My new son.
I promised Jack that we would make a pudding from my childhood but now, I regret it.
Ah, I thought, graduation in the stadium. I smiled, remembering when my daughters graduated from Humphrey Middle School. I soon discovered I was wrong.
There’s an earlier flight! Running full speed through the airport, we plop our exhausted butts down for the final leg of our trans-Atlantic trip.