The Ghosts of Our Broken Washers

I’ve had a lot of broken washing machines in my life. Only one was literal and the rest were all figurative.

Let Me Smile In Peace

I’m ready for anything. I’m not excited about it. I’m not looking to have long talks about it. But I am prepared for it.

My son with Autism turned Raffi from singer to icon in our house.

My pockets overflow with Hershey wrappers. They tumble out along the floor like product placement in a Hansel and Gretel movie.

I pictured her handing me paper stacks of glue and popsicle sticks until she was in her 50s.

You never realize how much of your life isn’t kid friendly until you find yourself tasked with being friendly to kids.

The scariest part was never about what he would or wouldn’t do.

One day, maybe he’ll be able to tell me, “Yo. Put me down.”

We’re not supposed to talk about these moments. We’re supposed to pretend they don’t happen and hide them behind our shiny social media accounts.

Forever. No thought. Not even a question. All real parents would say the same.