Mutha Magazine

To be continued… and to be published over seven parts at MUTHA

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In class, I teach my students how two words can fold into one
like brunch, or spork, or smog.
Such syllabic efficiency.
They love inventing their own:
Glassroom for Google Classroom,
constritisicm for constructive criticism.
Language, refined.
And today, as I look at my daughter’s fourth grade photo,
I see a portmanteau of a person

I am standing in the hallway of my home’s second floor. I can hear my youngest son, Arthur, jumping in his crib. My middle son, Wyatt, tugs at my shirt hem. My oldest son, Henry, will need to be picked up from kindergarten in an hour.

The clock is ticking.

I have found that so much of parenting is everyone needing something all at the same time. This momen...