For the next four days Jon and I are living once again in my mother’s basement as the wood floors in our kitchen are being refinished. When we walked into her house last night the smell of defeat and fatigue and doom enveloped us like an old toxic friend; it was exactly a year ago [...]
Ask me, “Aunt Heather, how do you spell TV?”
For telling my five year old nephew that Santa Claus is a fundamentalist Islamic terrorist.
Warn me that I “ain’t got no idea the suctioning power of an infant.” Like I didn’t have enough to worry about already.