Today, I am tired. I don’t have words sparking out of my fingers as I do on my best days, but for the sake of consistency, and more importantly, for the sake of honoring my commitments, of walking the path as much as I can, when I can, I share with you a story of something that occurred in our home last week.
I pull my ass out of bed, and slog my way to the bathroom for my morning ablutions. Maya and Pua, always in tow. Maya sees a spot of blood on my gray jersey cotton pants and she asks, “Mama, is that poop?”
I respond, drowsily, “No. I did not poop myself.”
“Oh,” she says, understanding. “It’s enchilada?”