imperfect prose on thursdays: i do not own my sons

Sometimes it’s hard, knowing how to balance ourselves with our kids and our husband and the washing machine going 24-7. Sometimes it’s about finding ourselves in the piles of laundry, in the peanut-butter kisses and the sticky hands trying to close your laptop when...

imperfect prose on thursdays: about a skinny girl who wrote an eating disorder book

Maybe it’s one of the reasons I whisper hallelujah each time I find a boy in my womb growing long and limber, although I know eating disorders are just as real for them, 25 per cent real in fact, and we just don’t realize it. That men sometimes hide in toilet bowls...

imperfect prose on thursdays: the boy who wanted to kill his brother

(guest post by duane scott)He’s not a tall boy, I notice, and so thin. Almost sickly. His arms look like a boy half his age. We’re in Canada at a boy’s retreat and my heart goes out to him so I look him square with empathy because I’m ready to hear his story, whatever...

imperfect prose on thursdays: when your baby is having a baby

When my kids were young I used to tell them that someday, when they had children of their own, I was going to buy each one of them a pony. It was really more of a threat than a promise, as in:If the two of you don’t stop fighting and getting on my last good nerve, I...