athesaurus.com

…breathe deeply and often…

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  • Report Card

    My son is judging me. If he were to give me a report card it would be  how long do I stay awake when I come home from school,  how much time do I spend writing,  how often and well do I cook for him,  how clean do I keep my room, how clean do Read more

  • Norris and the Easter Bunny

    Norris heard the rustling in the living room last night before I did. Thinking the worst, he leapt out of bed, and snagged my cheek with his back claw, narrowly missing my eye. Blood poured from the gash he left. There would be a scar. Dammit Norris. While he hotfooted it to the stirring in Read more

  • The Shade Room

    I am simple. I go to my shade room. It would be a sun room if there were no giant oaks and holly trees covering its porch and backyard. Moss, hostas, ferns and begonias grow there, as well as my bed of impatiens. Mint, the plant that’s supposed to take over the planet struggles. But Read more

  • Eavesdropping

    “Martha, I told you I would be late. I’m sorry you’ve got to put the kids to bed by yourself again tonight, I just got on the bus. I can’t teleport very well,” I could tell this well dressed, dark haired, professional dude, with the chiseled chin sitting beside me on the bus was in Read more

  • Kindness of Strangers

    Thank God for the kindness of strangers. Little mercies we are grateful for that we often take for granted, like someone holding the door when our arms are full. They’re rarely there at 6:00 a.m. I had my arms full. My teacher bag was draped across my left arm with my coffee in my hand, Read more

  • Tornado Sirens

    I was so glad to be home. The kids at school couldn’t have jumped any higher or harder on my last nerves. Our classroom was big enough to accommodate three times as many students, between their loud voices and their perpetually moving bodies they took up every square inch of it. Getting them in their Read more

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  • Van Gogh Epiphany

    When you start reading to your kids, you do it because you want them to learn to read. Then this happens. My first born read a  passage from a book about Vincent Van Gogh having a “cafe moment,” when Van Gogh’s experience, memory, talent, time, and place all converged into one glorious period of creativity…