small mysteries

The boys are growing, like those little capsules for sale at the gift shop, tiny shrink-wrapped curiosities dropped in water to reveal what they were always destined to be. The boys, though, are becoming not a stegosaurus or a sea turtle, but instead dependable and talented and kind and daring.

So a decade is just one tenth of a century clarifies Hank, taking my hand to gain my attention. 

Walking home from school he is either only stepping on shadows or avoiding all the cracks. And talking.

If Tolliver is not playing outside or playing the piano he is aiming nerf weapons at tiny tin pots from the play kitchen, at Lego mini figures, at the birds on our drapes. 

Sometimes the boys' behavior feels so idiosyncratic, but also completely universal - 

the bedtime dehydration, the sock adjustment situations

the crust cut, the skin peeled

the favorite clean shirt and the winter coat disdain

Maybe not every parent can actually relate, but humans are mysterious.

Their slow expansion, the way the boys seem to be growing into themselves, is my favorite show.