Trysta Peterson

Keep It Together, Momma

Sitting here in front of this bright red carry-on bag half filled with the boys’ clothes, I can’t help but freeze. This colorful array of Captain America, Ninja Turtles, Minecraft, Batman, and just about any popular theme to the five-to-seven year old peer group has caught my stare. Tiny size six khaki shorts folded up nice and neat in my lap just can’t seem to find their way inside the suitcase. My arms can’t move. My body won’t respond. I can’t even manage to blink as I feel every ounce of my being want to shatter into a billion sharp pieces.