I am on the phone with my Amma as she prepares to leave to India for the winter. My cell
Special Needs Mom. I roll over that label in my head. It feels alien, like when you first refer to
Laddu stands in front of me, her body leaner, taller than I thought. I liberally apply a moisturizer to her
My desk has stacks of paper. Yellow envelopes filled with sheets I need to fill, a checklist of largely unchecked
Laddu clings to my knees, screaming with a vehemence that takes me by surprise. The sauté pan with the hot
Oh! the things we do to sneak in a shower.