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confession

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

It’s funny how I sometimes have to confess a thing out loud in order to move past it. I prefer the page. It is often less vulnerable. I can delete or destroy far more quickly than I compose, but confession? I can’t take that back or float those words into my ocean’s dark histories. Last week I expelled tears in a combustible series of necessary verbal purges. This had nothing to do with religion, but everything to do with the spirit. I was deliberate in my conversations, pushing words past the

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