In high school I’d come over to my grandparent’s house on weekend mornings. In college I’d show up a little closer to dark. It didn’t matter though because he always asked if I was hungry and when I was he’d cook me an egg.
It’s been five years since the first of these headaches sent me to the emergency room on a June night. I’d spent the day in dark rooms, first at my house then at an urgent care center hooked up to an IV receiving fluids.
I work at a university. For my day job, that is. So I spend lots of time around undergraduates. When I first started working on campus I commented to my boss that that day must have been the day of tours for middle school students.
I was at the end of long day of sibling fighting. Injustices hurled one from the other. A car ride turned tense. The threat of a harmful blow with a pocket swiss army knife. A yoga mat to the head purposefully. Constant negotiation. “Use your words” went out the window around 10 a.m. only to be replaced with “don’t hit your sister again!”
Nearly every cell in my body screams for another baby except for a few and they happen to reside above the shoulders, between my ears. Those few cells scream, too, and at a fever pitch. Have you lost your mind?
We are going to a conference for gender non-conforming kids and their parents. We are going in search of other half half kids.
This year when Eliza and Lucille went to grandparent camp we came home to a quiet house and plotted how we’d spend the time without them.
This parenthood thing, this toughest job you’ll ever love, is not for the weak at heart.
By Jennifer Savage. For the past month or so I’ve been a little off and, though I’m trying, I can’t put my finger exactly on why.
By Jennifer Savage. Bless her heart, our little Lucille is as slow as Christmas.