It is late June, one week into summer.
When the two of them ride off to the pool together at 7:40, with sunshine glinting off their bike helmets and tennis racket handles sticking out the tops of their backpacks, I worry a little less about them getting there and home again without my supervision.
While the other two lie on the nursery floor together, Henry reading (really reading) a book to Max while Max stares at him and learns about vocal inflections and facial expressions, they each learn how to be bigger.
Too many swim towels are slung over the banister -- unmatched and already fraying from overuse -- and the washer machine is sloshing around its second load by 9:15.
My coffee is reheated. I'm tired from waking too often with the baby last night. Do we have sun dried tomatoes for the pasta dish I'm making for dinner?
There are nectarines ripening on the kitchen window sill and we finally have a morning cool enough to open the windows to let in fresh air. (Don't forget to cut up the watermelon before it spoils.)
It's almost July.
There's so little time for writing. We're busy.
When the two of them ride off to the pool together at 7:40, with sunshine glinting off their bike helmets and tennis racket handles sticking out the tops of their backpacks, I worry a little less about them getting there and home again without my supervision.
While the other two lie on the nursery floor together, Henry reading (really reading) a book to Max while Max stares at him and learns about vocal inflections and facial expressions, they each learn how to be bigger.
Too many swim towels are slung over the banister -- unmatched and already fraying from overuse -- and the washer machine is sloshing around its second load by 9:15.
My coffee is reheated. I'm tired from waking too often with the baby last night. Do we have sun dried tomatoes for the pasta dish I'm making for dinner?
There are nectarines ripening on the kitchen window sill and we finally have a morning cool enough to open the windows to let in fresh air. (Don't forget to cut up the watermelon before it spoils.)
It's almost July.
There's so little time for writing. We're busy.
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