Tuesday, July 25, 2017

Week in Seven Words #352

For the first time in a while, I give her a kiss on the cheek. I try to pay more attention to her anecdotes.

Bags of clothing mushroom out of the donation bin.

Sunset spattering peach and gold on the river.

She builds a zip line for her dolls, just because. This is one of the pleasures of childhood, the project launched on a whim after you've finished your homework.

He's almost one. He's got a healthy baby face. As such, he needs to keep ducking away from people who screech Those cheeks! and dive in with their pincers.

She dozes off at the table and starts humming "Frosty the Snowman." When she wakes up, she asks where the music came from. A radio? No, it's not the right season for carols. Was it us, singing?

In a voice that bears a full freight of disappointment, he lists what he thinks is wrong with the world. The words are like stones thrown into my stomach.