Mother Tongue
Mandy Arioto
Ever since I became a mom, I developed what I refer to as a mother tongue. I call every kid that enters my house,
Ever since I became a mom, I developed what I refer to as a mother tongue. I call every kid that enters my house,
Modern medicine didn’t cure me. Treatment followed a few years after I was diagnosed, but instead of turning me back into a healthy, energetic
“Dad, do you believe in soul mates?” I asked. His eyebrows raised behind the paper he was reading. “Well …” he began. His fingers
For years, it was the longing that had no name, the longing that I wouldn’t allow myself to name. Denied, it took on ugly
My phone pings. A text from my husband. He is back in Austin, Texas for work. He writes how good it is to be
For six warp-speed hours every week, my youngest son is in preschool. He’s been my constant companion for the last four years, so I’m
A widow, a cancer-survivor and a mother of three with only two she can hold, sing to and rock to sleep – these are
Small talk is a curious thing. It is often thought rude not to engage in small talk with strangers, but we rarely strengthen relationships
I remember sitting in the butterfly pose on the gym floor of the elementary school. I was wearing a pink leotard with a floral
We met in church nursery – or at least that’s where we reconnected after a nearly two-decade hiatus. Eliza* and I had known each