My Break For The Day

Somewhere between the I-can’t-do-everything-around-here and the it’s-easier-to-do-it-myself syndrome I hear the whisper, “Don’t forget Me.” 

But the day is full and fragmented. A tiny face with serious eyes bores into my closed ones. Level with my pillowed head they pull me from a dead sleep.

“I gotta go potty,” a little voice announces.

It is the bugle call of a mommy, and I throw back the covers, feel for a damp bottom, then…


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