It was just days after Chanelle was born. Friends stopped by to visit and to meet our new little girl. They oohed and aahed at our new little bundle, while Charlie, who was not yet two, toddled around us. After a lovely visit, they were stepping outside into the darkness and the brisk cool air and one of them turned back, looked at the four of us and said, you have your boy and your girl. It’s perfect. Don’t mess with that.
Last night, before all is shut down for the night, he walks into my office to say good night. I lift my wrist and glance at my watch, 17 years ago right now, I was lying in the hospital, hooked up to monitors, as we waited and waited, and waited for your arrival.
The blogging years are over. The blogging is the new black season, lovely as it was, had it’s day. Now 280 characters are far too many. Can I have the reader’s digest version, please? Cliff’s Notes are too wordy. Single words are spashed on a screen while a video set to fun, heartfelt, or soulful music plays on a screen. Meant to make us feel something, for a moment, but just for a moment. We flit from here to there, scrolling, eyes dancing over headlines and captions—we see so much, but do we really see?
Twenty-one years ago (yesterday) I married a boy. It rained in the pre-dawn hours of our wedding day. It’s good luck, they had said of the rain. Do I need luck? I wondered. By the time we arrived at the church for our early morning wedding, the suns rays had eliminated any sign of the […]