why God allows suffering

his hand rests on my arm to still the sobs and i shrug it off. i want to feel the pain, i tell him. there are chip crumbs on his shirt and it’s his turn to look hurt. we’ve married this moment to the Boy with the Striped Pajamas, a movie about a jewish boy...

what it means to be a parent

his breath smells like breakfast sausage. i know this even as i wait at the finish line of my son’s first race. it’s canada day, and i’ve never seen his father so excited. “first we have a pancake breakfast, with sausage and bacon,” he...

love smells like rain

Love smells like rain on the earth of his chest where my cheek lies, and he can barely reach me for the child bulging belly but we find a way, and love always does. (for the rest of this mushy weekend post, find me over at michelle’s beautiful place,...

when you let your husband down

i have a surprise for you, he said at the bottom of the stairs and the night glowed promise and son, asleep, so we slipped out into air that smelled of fading lilacs and there stood a ladder, a silver-leaning against window against roof and my insides shifted for the...