It’s easier to be a parent in summer because the kids take care of each other. You know the saying: “It takes a village to raise a child.” There’s something to be said for having multiple children to pitch in with raising each other. I imagined I would have four kids. Four perfect children evenly spaced and matched, who knew how to accomplish chores with a single instruction. Children who stuck with lessons, completed what they started, cleared their dishes from the table, and existed without raging screen or sugar
I love you most when you are drifting under the wings of nightmares my ear against the grain of your closed wooden door I miss you most when you sleep twisted in the fear you will slip the tether lose your one, small soul. Rest, child. I will hold your string you are the gift I prayed for when I fed blood to Mother Earth. All of my children struggle with nightmares, but especially one. I find myself waiting at his door listening with my heart as he whimpers.