son – elisabeth pike

#63

He has been drawing, drawing, drawing, this Sam. He is obsessive, like his father, he does not give up. He cries when I draw the wings of his dragon too small. He draws beautiful things: Monsters, houses hiding behind trees full of leaves, Pirates, a Daddy with a generous beard. We go out for anContinueContinue reading “#63”

Crying in Public Places

This time it is me again, in a room of friends or a room of strangers. At the door of my son’s preschool when he shouts ‘don’t like preschool’ the whole way there, and leaps from the buggy board and runs off down the road, and I hand him over, howling and I have toContinueContinue reading “Crying in Public Places”