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Four Weeks In

If I had only known Three days was nothing Four weeks now notched on my belt of motherhood Four weeks with a sick child, one at a time, usually on Thursdays Falling not like dominoes but like patient drops from the tip of a stalactite J.D. Fitzgerald’s mother...

Limericks for TJ

For Tennyson, who says it isn’t a real poem unless it rhymes. There was one a 9-year-old kid Whose stomach decided to rid Itself of its contents Under the pretense Of denying itself, so it did. There once was a boy fair and jolly Who snuck a lick of his...

Three Days In

Three days in to the stomach virus in our house And I am checking every twinge Was that nausea I feel? What was that gurgling in my intestines? Something sinister? Heaven help the child who complains of anything abdominal; It means quarantine for sure. And constant...

The Humpty Dumpty Tree

All week the boys had been asking to put up the Christmas tree, and Saturday was the day. A day full of promise—idyllic family memories to be made, stories of ornaments from years gone by, our favorite carols playing. Back in 2006, we decided to switch to a smaller...