Memory Layne
A single mother of two, a painter of watercolors and murals by trade and inspiration, I write about what goes on, day to day, in this crazy house of ladies. Sometimes ladylike, sometimes not. Sometimes really really really not.
Stories by Memory Layne
Tired. Inside and out.
All I can do is leave the hurricane on the living room floor, the dishes in the sink. My unfinished work in my studio. The...
It’s the 4 p.m., the “Witching Hour.” It follows us through life with our children—just the symptoms that go along with...
There is something to be said for someone who dances half naked to The Police, Cranberries, and REM in the middle of the night on the back porch,...
My daughters attend Sunday school every Sunday. Whether they are with their dad or with me. I am more likely to let them play hooky, only because I...
This morning, my seven year old dressed herself on her own. I didn’t realize how particular she was until she was two and refused to wear...
