When my children were babies and the gray cloud of unhappiness descended, I’d put them in a bathtub of warm water and we’d play with the pirate ship, or the whale that spouts a tiny arc of water, or the froggy mama and her 3 babies floating on their lily pad home. We’d read the day away, laughing at King Bidgood or wondering about Stellaluna or Ping or that silly Sal , who thought a bear was her mother, until soon enough, we all felt better. Finally we come to the end of the day, which has not been a success but not a failure, exactly, either, and there’s this–my middle son Avery notices the red welt on the tip of my thumb, where it was smashed by the warped door. And now a bad day really does feel like a terrible no good very bad day. If more women were honest about this stuff even the feelings of a rainy day, not so many moms would feel so alone. read more
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