She: Calling them hand fives. I’ll have done something smart like remembering to switch the laundry or googling what hedgehogs eat (cat food, go figure?) and she’ll say, Great job, Mom. Hand five.
It’s been arts and crafts, crafts and arts. There is a thin layer of glue smattering everything east of the office. I’m uncharacteristically nonchalant over the mess. You know I’ve always had a soft spot for good old-fashioned art.
At night, she plugs her nose when she does a somersault in her bed. I laugh for days.
Me: Last week, I’d meant to order five apples from the co-op, but I ordered five pounds of apples. I’ve done this before, and you’d think I’d have learned my lesson (applesauce for breakfast, lunch, dinner, beyond), but this has got to be the third time in a year? I blame book edits. My head is in the clouds, on the page, anywhere but here.
He: Finally home from a crazed travel season.
We: Finally home.
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