School or library? Library or school? Why not both?
We stand at the front of the classroom excitedly talking about seasons, timing, and how you know when to move on. God’s name drops several times. I feel other women’s eyes on us. I wonder if they’re annoyed or interested.
I wish I had as much time now as I did when I thought I was busy.
I take off the case, filled with grime and lint and probably boogers, for the first time in six months. The phone suddenly is delicate and smooth and tiny in my hands. I love it. But I can’t be trusted—back it goes.
IKEA: a potty seat, an ice cream cone, and thou.
I hear her skull crack off the floor while I’m making dinner. Crayon-red blood oozing between her teeth and dripping everywhere. Screaming. I have no idea what to do. Where’s the manual for this thing?
Funny how the bad 10% in an otherwise good day (90% is still an A) convinces me I’ve failed at momming today.