The Hike

The climb is steady, and slowly the woods around them quiet as they move deeper into the trees. Her older one is a fast hiker and they move quickly, hopping over tree roots and giant rocks that have fallen onto the path.

The Observer

Now, however, it was summer, and the days stretched out before them like cross country track meets, each one ending with the three of them dripping in sweat and exhausted, hands on their knees and gulping for air.

The Road Trip

At two years old, their son hated his car seat, got restless after an hour or so buckled in. They had driven to the beach a month ago, a test run, they had called it. After forty-five minutes he had started kicking the back of her seat, pounding his fists against his armrests.

The Late Fee

The radio played songs from her childhood, beat out tunes as familiar to her as her own heartbeat, melodies that hummed through her bloodstream whenever she dared to listen. She was late, as usual. The alarm on her phone had gone off twice before she had complied and began gathering her things.

The Yard

She could still taste the sweat in the air as all the neighborhood kids ran from yard to yard, hunted by whoever was "it," every muscle taught with electricity.

The Afternoon

She had been hesitant, unwilling to deal with the inevitable mess that would come afterward, the dripping clothes, the waterlogged shoes, the exhausted screaming as she peeled his shirt up over his head. She was glad he had thought of it though, cajoled her into letting their son be little.

The Edge

When she thought of him, she could still feel his small head against her chest in the middle of the night, her tears falling on his cheeks as she begged him to sleep.

The Ocean

She watched as her youngest dug in the sand, his hair curling from underneath his hat. The sand stuck to the insides of his elbows, the backs of his knees, places where the sunscreen was wet and thick. He tossed heaps of it over his shoulder, sending it flying into the wind.

The Morning

His dad would bring him down the stairs, and he would squirm to be put down so that he could make his way to the pantry to find the Goldfish. Then, the two of them would sit on the couch and watch Mickey

The Brothers

He knew that he wasn’t allowed to touch any of them, so he would circle the rocking chair like he was circling an altar, glancing at the rows and rows of trucks with a look of reverence, itching to grab a few.

The Routine

The older one laughed and shouted made up words, and the younger one laughed with him, shouting his own made-up words, each speaking their own language. They screamed so loud the echoes ricocheted off the walls and down the stairs, filling the entire house with their noise.

The Stars

They play leap frog over the treetops, and the stars surround him as they sail through clouds that reach out and try to grab his toes.

The Ship

The flowers become an ocean he must steer through, his ship splashing against their stems like the lips of waves. They cry out to him as he passes, shouting praises of his bravery.

The Monster

When he’s angry, he’s gnashing teeth and fire. He shakes the floor with his heavy feet, making the walls and trees tremble. He throws his toys and his magnets, sending them scattering across the tile. They cower in fear when they hear him coming.

The Swing

His mom’s hand taps out a rhythm against his back as she pushes him higher and higher. He wants to kick the clouds and fly to the top of the trees.

The Castle

The green turret of the castle cuts above the fog, calling out his name. There’s treasure nearby and his excitement is dripping off him, laced with sweat - swimming through his blood, filling his lungs and his mouth and stomach.

The Splash Pad

He sees his dad headed towards him so he runs the opposite way, stomping through the puddles in his path. Warnings of “don’t run” swim past his ears, but he ignores them and runs faster.