Sunday, July 30, 2017

I Feel Happy When...

Mr. Matt has a bushy beard that hides thumbprint-sized dimples in his cheeks. ("Social workers can't afford razors," he jokes.) His eyes are kind, his office is small, and he has a magnificent way with Camren. He holds his hand. He calls him "Buddy." He sees Camren's delightful sense of humor beneath his hardheadedness and often-abrasive nature.


In Mr. Matt's office, we can hear the hum of a lawn mower through the open window. The water feature plugged into the wall beside the bookcase gurgles and drips. We sit in chairs in a triangle formation and talk about our feelings. I feel happy when... I feel sad when... I feel angry when...

Sunday, July 9, 2017

Now They Will Have Peace!

I distinctly remember a time I overheard Lilly playing with her dolls.


She was a sweet and saucy three-year-old who had just discovered the wonders of her imagination and "pretend play." I was wiping down kitchen counters--remnants of spilled breakfast cereal left to petrify on the formica unless I acted fast--while she played in the adjacent living room. I could hear her tiny voice playing the parts of both the mommy doll and the daddy doll, which she clutched in her hands: