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‘Our child dumped his piggy bank onto his bed. He’s having a Mardi Gras moment, hurling coins like beaded necklaces. ‘You can’t jump off the top bunk!,’ he tells our daughter.’

“I crack open a tired eyelid to see it’s not even 6 a.m. The rain beating down on our roof is drowned out by the billowing coming from our kids’ room. I lose my cool. It’s been under an hour of complete chaos. This is when my husband and I shift from relying on each other, to turning on each other.”

‘No, Mommy! I don’t need a potty!’ The kids erupted in giggles. I should’ve been suspicious LONG before. Holland had been consuming juice boxes and popsicles for HOURS, y’all.’

“I go full-fledged panic mode. Something is amiss. I can smell it. Holland: ‘I DONT NEED A POTTY!’ Ben: ‘BAHAHAHAHAHHAA! She doesn’t need a potty, Mom! Our clubhouse ALREADY HAD a potty!’ Golden Retriever: *whimpering slightly* I climb up the ladder. My children are pointing to… A dog bowl.”

‘Lathered in sunscreen, poolside, I suddenly realized my son wasn’t with me. My eyes hit the shallow end. I spotted a toddler completely submerged in water. The world stopped. I plunged in.’

“I was not the mother to make this kind of error. The mother who looked away. ‘If he’s alive, he’d be kicking, fighting.’ Why wasn’t he fighting? I pulled him onto the cement and thrusted my hand against his back. Fingernails pink, skin pale, lips discolored. His white knuckles gripped my neck. ‘ANDREW. Andrew, please come back to me.'”

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