She’ll Finally Understand

CheneyParenting, Writing Challenges4 Comments

A few weeks ago my best friend confided in me that she is pregnant. This didn’t come as a surprise, because she and her husband have been actively trying to get pregnant for a while now, but was exciting to news to hear. I felt immediate delight at the thought of getting to snuggle and sniff at some fresh baby … Read More

when you’re alone

CheneyPoetry, Writing Challenges6 Comments

it doesn’t have to be the scariest thing in the world to get out of bed in the morning i know how it feels sometimes, the quickening, the fear, the panic, and how much you would rather crawl back back into a place that feels safe but you don’t have to be afraid all the time

The Russian Invasion

CheneyLife Stories, Writing Challenges0 Comments

The day the Towers came down my grandparents called me from Florida in a near panic, begging me not to go to work that afternoon. I half listened to my grandmother drawl on about how it wasn’t safe to go over the bridge, the bridge could be a target, they might not be done. I laughed to myself quietly, phone … Read More

Woke

CheneyDaily Photo, Letters To Elise, Parenting, Writing Challenges17 Comments

It’s the first day of summer. A new season. A new chapter here. And there’s really no gentle way to segue into this one. When my daughter Elise was much younger she was diagnosed with a number of conditions, and because (as some people would say) I am a terrible mother, I didn’t define her, or let our lives be … Read More

Trumped.

Cheney366skies, Daily Photo, Fiction, Writing Challenges5 Comments

  “Estos Americanos pueden besar mi culo!” Father cursed at the middle finger America raised with her soil upon our arrival. I had expected clear skies and grand trees and was left bereft. My father, incensed. Dreams trump reality. There’s no turning back.

Five O’clock Somewhere

Cheney366skies, Daily Photo, Fiction, Writing Challenges13 Comments

No one bothers me at the grocery store. I’m invisible there, just another overweight, frumpy looking mom wandering the aisles with my cart, telling myself that 33 is still a tender age. I’ll spend ten minutes in the can aisle, picking up tins of peas and green beans in slime even though I would never buy them, because I’m an … Read More