“Dad, you’re taking too much.” So said my eight-year-old as he watched my ex and his friends move furniture out of what used to be our house. Now, it’s my house—many dollars and sleepless nights later. My ex did not respond. I reassured my son that our new furniture was on order—it would just be…
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Blink and it’s gone
At the crack of dawn, I was already driving home from the airport, wiping big mama tears from my cheeks. My eldest was headed back to Texas, his fireman gear packed efficiently per his norm. Military precision is his modus operandi. While he was getting ready to board a plane, I was heading back to…
