My Girl

The day I was born, my father didn't speak.  He sang. They wrapped me in a bundle and put me in his arms; the youngest, the first and only girl.  There's a faded picture of him cradling me, smiling, singing. "I've got sunshine, on a cloudy day.  When it's cold outside, I've got the month... Continue Reading →

One.

Every mother has one story about each child that, over and over, they still love to tell. In this one, I am standing in the grocery store, maybe four years old - up to her knees or so - and I tug on her jeans. “Mommy! Mom! Moooooom!” I say, eyes full and round. She... Continue Reading →

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