The knife slices through the potato, the sharp edge hitting the cutting board with each chop. Thwack. Thwack. It’s not quite noon, but I want the mashed potatoes made now, so all I have…
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“She’s probably the last little one we’ll have at harvest,” my father-in-law said, looking at Nora in her car seat. She smiled at me, her cheeks covered in chocolate, leftover from dinner in the…
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I’m tired. And I know the crew is too. I hate how easily I snap at the kids at this point of harvest. In the brief moments when Rich is home, all three kids…