My Cardboard Balcony

Calendar by Belinda Roddie It feels like Friday when it's meant to be Monday, tempted to be Tuesday, waiting to be Wednesday, thinking of Thursday when I can love you Someday

The local news was playing in the background as I made waffles for my guest. She sat humming to herself, all smiles, her feet kicking against the table because she was too small to touch the floor. I couldn’t help chuckling as she sang a song of her own composition, tending to the waffle iron as I snuck glances at her. “Are you excited for Mom to come home?” I asked. “Oh, yes! But I like you, too, Daddy,” she reminded me. “Good. Glad to hear it.”