“People aren’t sentences. People are stories.” David heard this at a conference and is pondering it, in a cross-eyed, exhausted kind of way, during our wee-hours catch-up, a rarely guaranteed ritual when all the kids are sleeping, the cat is fed, and tasks rendered urgent (through neglect) have miraculously been dispatched, ignored, delegated or completely forgotten. Neither of us is socializing with friends, talking to family, or addicted to technology. We are together, a preciously infrequent moment lacking the usual interruptions.
Lately I’ve been sorting out what I feel about Mother’s Day, so my mind perks up when he says this. I actually open my eyes. Cock my head to one side. Hmmm. Continue reading
Rebel Parents 