I woke up this morning to the sounds of my eight year old going through his morning routine. He lets out the dog, gets her breakfast and water, lets her back in, feeds her, crates her again or sends her back outside. He pulls down… Read More
My twenty-two month old is in my bedroom, standing barefoot in a mess of her own making, squealing in gibberish. With her just-woke-up-from-a-nap hair and the smudges of cereal bar on her cheeks, she looks like a homeless, uncared for, disaster. Oh, but, her smile.… Read More
The Frozen Moon 