If you know of a special poem for this page please email it to me to post here. She has to be completely washable, but not plastic, have 180 movable and replaceable parts, run on black coffee and leftovers, have a lap that disappears when she stands up, a kiss that can cure anything from a broken leg to a disappointed love affair, and six pairs of hands.
Tomorrow is another day.
Finally, the angel bent over and ran his finger across one of the grandmother's cheeks. Tiny footsteps pitter-patter over to my bedside. Ma Ma, 'blanka' . . . I take my daughter's hand and head downstairs to find her favorite blanket and begin the workday. I pour myself a strong cup of coffee and dial in to check email.