Fifteen years ago, I heard a whisper on my insides: you’re gonna marry that boy. One quiet day at the creek — quiet enough for me to hear the methodical splash of the rower’s ores and a dove’s distant call … and a whisper — and...
I hadn’t even finished college when I had the conversation that would be the first in a string of ones like it stretching through my adulthood. I didn’t realize it then: this conversation was a rite of passage. We sat across from one another over a...
A friend (who’d worked at length with children) watched the two of them play innocently in the one small section of the waiting room where we’d told them they could unpack their tote of just a few toys. We’d described to him their first few months at...
Summer is about wonder. I grew up knowing summer to be the pungent smell of saltwater air that envelops the east coast oceanfront towns. We spent only one week per year at the beach, but my memory of those weeks overshadows swim lessons and day camps and bike rides to...
Dear Dad, I once heard a set of parents say that they wanted their ceiling to be their children’s floor. If you’d heard that, too, you would have said it. You lived it. Though your body was broken for about as many years of my life as not, I think...
Dear husband — it’s not just them whom you’ve trapped in wonder. They’ll make you cards and sing songs to which they’ve forgotten half the words and climb all over you first thing Sunday morning to wish you Happy Father’s Day, but...
