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.
By Jennifer Savage. I am living with witches.
By Jennifer Savage. This weekend I moved a tiny desk into a large room with high ceilings, freshly refinished floors and a giant window looking down on Missoula’s downtown.
By Jennifer Savage. My seven-year-old is copping an attitude.
