Once there was a tiny embryo in the womb that wanted more–she pushed and kicked.  Finally the prison she was in opened a door and she dove out.  But it was hard and constraining and difficult and a chore–she was born.

Wanting something, seeing a treat, she screams at her mother.  Tired and irritated that the world doesn’t revolve around her enough, she fusses and fights.  And does not get her way, but falls asleep.

Teenage years finds her pressing that envelope–staying out late, trying the drinking drugging thing cautiously–and then recklessly.  She worries her folks, gets into scrapes, flails at the world with her beauty and boldness.  Finally a personality of courage and crazy sets in.

Motherhood grabs her by the belly and slams her down into double-time reality.  Work, home, kids, husband, she does the whole routine.  Until one day, late at night, kids asleep, husband drunk on the couch, in her work clothes she sits in the kitchen and hears herself say: Is this all there is?  Months later she goes out drunk and breaks the family apart.

Years later, very sober, the family readjusts in a new configuration.  There are arguments, there is pain, there are rivers of tears.  And there is reconciliation and peace.

Stories of struggle and grace.