Children Are Meant to be Unfinished

“And don’t forget you didn’t finish the laundry,” I yell defiantly. I watch the slim profile of my daughter stomp up the stairs, her dark ponytail swinging side to side. I can hear her breathing through her nose, in and out, in and out, like a bull about to charge. I watch as she turns the corner, out of my view. I brace myself, waiting for the door to slam, yet thankfully I hear a quiet click of metal on the wooden frame. I stand still, one hand clutching the…

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