My son isn’t a doctor. He’s doesn’t line up shoes or toys. He doesn’t scream when hugged. He doesn’t count cards, toothpicks, or, well, anything. He’s none of those things
They’re my song inspirations and my entire captive studio audience.
Don’t do what I do. I won’t do what you do. We do what’s right for our families.
Some moments she’s my little princess. Other moments she’s the evil queen.
He wants what he wants when he wants it and will ask you repeatedly.
Between quarantine and Summer break, it feels like he’s been in there for eons.
He won the standoff. He always wins the standoffs.
I know that every cent spent is a minute earned burned, but she doesn’t.
Even when I play-fight with him, he giggles and wraps his arms around me for hugs.
Why do I have to physically stop myself from bringing in a plate of pizza bagels and taking a seat in the circle?