It is growing dark. Pattu’s flashlight bobs up and down in the dusk. I am walking beside her and watching
In the midst of stir-frying a melange of vegetables for my children’s’ lunchbox, I reach out for my phone. I
Pattu enters through the garage, her backpack sliding off her shoulder and her right hand clutching a patterned paper bag.
My hands circles her tiny body, my face pressed against her back as she sits and turns the pages of
I look at the dusk setting just outside the window of my dining room. The soles of my feet hurt
I sit between two women at the tae kwon do class my twins are at. We trade smiles each time
The alarm went off at 3:00 AM and I stood sipping coffee in the cool back patio of my sister’s
My hand shakes a bit as I shape the batter on the sizzling tawa resulting in an imperfect heart. I
I watch as Ammu steps out of the garage into the sun. I watch as she mulls walking through the
I stand by the kitchen picture window, furiously chopping the cabbage. Laddu clings to my feet, crying piteously. Snot runs
Mothering is not just rainbows and unicorns. It is the not so fine moments that do not get vocalized.