“MAMA, DOES SHE HAVE A BOO BOO?”

My dear friend, Carly, has the two most beautiful, smart and charismatic daughters I have ever been lucky enough to meet.  She has an adorable 8-month old and a curious 3-year-old.  I went back to my hometown today and met up with Carly and her lovely family to say hello and catch-up on four months worth of time spent apart since I moved away.  I love both her daughters for warming up my heart in ways other children never have.  Her eldest daughter today pointed at a finger on my right hand and inquired about the yellow teddy bear band-aid  it was enveloped in.  She looked up at Carly with

FIGHTING THE ITCH TO SCRATCH

I can bind my hands at night with oven mitts and duct tape and I will still somehow manage to scratch that itch.  I’m not sure how I manage to puncture a whole through layers of fabric and not only scratch my arm, but scratch until it tears my skin and bleeds leaving residual red beneath my nails.  But that’s how it is at night.  In deep slumber, I really have no control whether I scratch.  It’s not until morning’s blinding sunlight breaks through the window and I wake only to see my skin torn apart.

It breaks my heart every time because I feel like there’s something I should have learned