My son runs through the kitchen, tossing crumpled papers onto the counter. I shuffle through the math worksheets and drawings and find a letter from his music teacher about the upcoming Christmas program. In the letter, she outlines the outfits each grade level needs to wear for the performance. My kindergartener is supposed to wear... Continue Reading →
In my bedroom, I have an old wooden stool. The paint is chipped, and the legs are marred with scratches and dents, probably from being dropped over the years. You can see where glue has been added, likely from my dad repairing it years ago. But my name is still there—clearly painted in blue cursive.... Continue Reading →
As a kid, I remember thinking of Christmas as a mile-marker. I would look back over how much had changed from one year to the next. In high school, I’m sure I wondered if the next Christmas I would have a boyfriend. (Spoiler alert: I did not.) Or the year I went from not being... Continue Reading →
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