On Endings #3

Lately I’ve been remembering when my children were little. It was frustrating and exhausting. Just a few days ago their mother and I were laughing about how the funny thing about having little kids is how you could be pushing a stroller through a park on a sunny day, your children occupied or otherwise quiet, the birds chirping, hydrangeas and marigolds swaying joyfully in the afternoon breeze, and internally you’d be living in a personal and private hell of anxieties and exhaustions. When will they wake up, what will I make for dinner, will they sleep through the night, does that one need

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