We walked to the library, noting the passing of seasons in a new place. We don't really know what will bloom here or how long it will stay. This spring and summer have felt like a slow moving play that we won tickets to attend but have not heard much about.
The boys had root beer floats out front while we looked at the new books. Hank took a spill down the concrete steps, skinning his knees and scuffing his face, screaming.
Tucker, three books in and barely lifting his eyes from the page, reached over to pat him, his face simultaneously whispered something like
Well, this is kind of annoying - twinned impulses to which I can absolutely relate.
Tolliver said
I wish that happened to me so I could be the one who hurt, the universal parental wish, to absorb the hurt on behalf of them.
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