Apples Never Fall

The only recognition you got for surviving a night like that came from other mothers. Only they understood the epic nature of your trivial achievements.

It happened all the time. Talented kids turned into ordinary grown-ups: butterflies became moths.

“In case she can’t get what’s in her head and her heart onto the canvas. Maybe she’s afraid of being afraid. That she’ll be so paralyzed by fear she won’t do a thing, she’ll just stand there with her paintbrush, feeling like a fraud.”

She wants to paint but she’s afraid to paint.”

When she looked at photos of her children when they were little, she sometimes thought, Did I notice how beautiful they were? Was I actually there? Did I just skim the surface of my entire damned life?)