I am not a perfect mom, but I am a good mom. I’m an incredible mom. I’m the kind of mom that sometimes makes other moms wonder if they are good-enough moms, and they are—they nearly always are. They are probably better moms than I could ever be. Like a cowboy with trucknuts, I am compensating for something. [...]
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He enumerated the things that scare him: (1) death, (he clarified: my death; especially before he is old enough to be on his own—he’s halfway there), and; (2) “my dad.” (I think those might be one in the same.) [...] I breathed deeply—9/11/11 has come. It has been ten years. [...] Maggie needs our help. [...] | |||||
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