Klara’s new thing is that she can see through things.
“I know what’s inside this box, mommy! I have magic and I can see right through it! I know what’s inside the dolly!”
“Can you see what’s inside me?” I ask.
“Of course,” she says instantly. “It’s love! You are filled with love.”
This makes me want to find a portal to hop through so I can revisit my children when they were younger. Once they hit their teens they turned into silent, smelly, self-absorbed schmucks. At least now my 24 year old will let me hug him. But I miss those innocent, emotional affirmations–back before I discovered I was the worst parent on the planet. (Yesterday it was because I wouldn’t let my child go play with his friends after getting into trouble at school.
Oh, no, she can’t be on the cover, because I was the cover Mom this month: I told my kids they had to finish their math before they could go play outside. At 11am. On a weekday.
I am basically the wicked stepmother out of Cinderella.
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A conservative literary critic and college professor
Clarissa's Blog 
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