There was a time I didn’t answer the door. — Once, when I was pregnant with Bee, an acquaintance I’d known from church asked if she could bring dinner over after the baby was born. Do you like Greek? she’d asked. (I love Greek.) But then, the baby was born and the visitors descended and
“I like Dad better than you.” Well, she said it. My fear had materialized in a single statement, and you know, the context of these things matter. I had thought she’d say it in the midst of a lecture, or when I was asking her to do a Not Fun thing that perhaps Ken doesn’t
I don’t know, it’s as if I am two people. Maybe three, but certainly not four because four seems a complete reference to balance, as if life is even and rational, four corners, four winds. There are days in which I am amazing, incredible, earth-shatteringly good!, and then in a moment, in a flash, a