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It was Thursday evening—almost the weekend, but not quite. Dinner was winding down. The table was a scene of half-eaten pasta, a lone broccoli floret being negotiated like it was a hostage, and three-year-old Renee passionately refusing to eat anything “green unless it’s green like Elsa’s dress.” Renee (scowling at her plate): “These peas are…
It was one of those post-office evenings where I had just enough energy left to pretend to be a responsible adult. Dinner was barely done, my laptop had just stopped screaming for attention, and there I was – sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, with Renee and her preschool workbook. Thursday nights in our…
NotesFromTheSidewalk 