Short reflections on fatherhood, failure, and the quiet grace of staying present
This morning, I made coffee at home. It wasn’t because I wanted to. I wanted the one from the little shop near the park—the one with the cinnamon on top and the cold foam and the cheerful girl behind the counter who always remembers my name. But the
I was stirring sugar into my coffee this morning when I noticed the spoon. It’s just a regular teaspoon. Part of a mismatched set I’ve had since the split. But something about it caught me—how small it is, how ordinary. It made me think: this is how
There’s a photo on my fridge. It’s crooked, held up by a magnet shaped like a taco. In the picture, I’m standing next to her—before we were parents, before we were anything other than two people who decided to try. We’re both squinting into the
I was folding laundry last night—half-watching an old movie, half-listening to the rain tapping against the kitchen window—when I found a T-shirt I used to wear to the gym. It’s soft now, thinned out from too many washes. The logo’s faded. Still smells faintly like sweat
This afternoon, my boys got into a fight. The kind that starts with a toy and ends with one pushing the other a little too hard. Tears, shouting, blame thrown like rocks across a creek. I separated them. Sent the older one to his room. Not as punishment exactly—more
