The Case of Missing Body Parts
I expected the river cleanup to yield mud and rusted cans. I did not expect a text from my husband regarding a suitcase full of boobs and butts.
I expected the river cleanup to yield mud and rusted cans. I did not expect a text from my husband regarding a suitcase full of boobs and butts.
I spent years in a V8 ‘mom car’ preserving family honor and teaching whippersnappers lessons at red lights. Now the kids are in college, and I’m navigating that restless, displaced feeling of a life transition that isn’t always portrayed in a positive way. It’s a reflection on reaching back into the past to signal who you are when you aren’t quite ready to part with the life you’ve known.
The refrigerator stopped humming, the Wi-Fi router died, and suddenly there was a stranger in the room. It was an old friend I hadn’t seen in years.
It’s been a week. Between being called out by my son for my stress habits and trying to build a garden from scratch, I’m reminded that even comfort has its complications—and apparently, so do squirrels.
Carl is a six-year-old boy whose mind moves at lightning speed, filling with ideas for games, stories, and play. He loves ideas—his own and everyone else’s—and they seem to come faster than he can use them.
But one day, something unusual happens.
His ideas don’t stay in his head.
They begin to gather… into a cloud above him.
AI is changing how we write—but it’s also changing how we judge writing. Patterns once taught in school are now being flagged as proof of AI use, leading to growing suspicion around students and authors alike.
With unreliable detection tools and quick assumptions, the real concern isn’t just AI—it’s how easily we question the people behind the work.
From childhood conversations about what could be invented to hearing “what’s left to invent,” this is a reflection on how the way we think about possibility may be changing.
What started as a dog’s strange obsession with doughnuts turned out to be something else entirely. It took me years to understand what Olive knew all along.
The house is on fire, and the leadership we expect to coordinate the hose lines is nowhere to be found. A reflection on the exhaustion of watching a global reality show where the consequences are all too real, but the accountability is gone
Rowan couldn’t sleep. He rested his chin on his hand and looked out the window at the lamp by the sidewalk. Its light spilled onto the steps and the path. Everything else was quiet. The lamp stayed on, watching the house like a soldier.
Not all treasures sparkle. Some rattle softly in old tins, waiting patiently to be chosen, and know exactly where they belong. A bedtime story about a blanket, a button, and family connections.
A look at the unwritten rules of breakfast and why some sugary foods are acceptable in the morning while others are not.