Memories are the darndest thing.
I’m folding a couple of the T-shirts that haven’t yet been demoted to dryer status when all of a sudden, I’m thinking about my son’s father’s reaction when I told him I was pregnant. We limped along for another two and a half years, but he never quite forgave me. [i] That isn’t what I’m thinking about, however. I’m thinking about the day he came … Continue reading Memories are the darndest thing.
