Allowing the almost seven year old to dice tomatoes is, in my experience, inefficient and inconvenient. But in between drywall repair and student midterm evaluations, Andy does not turn down an offer of help in the kitchen. There is white paint on his elbow and patience in his tone. And eventually there is a small pile of tomatoes.
All the walls here are still white; six years in and often the color feels like the most peaceful thing in our house.
Someone is making music with spoons while pork and cheese are layered on fresh ciabatta in the Cuban sandwich assembly line. Someone is sitting at the table reading aloud jokes from a magazine and Siri is playing a vibraphone station and the dryer is humming. I imagine wasting energy trying to regulate the volume and then someone is actually applauding a plate of nachos.
What a racket devotion is.
Sometimes, when I watch Andy cook with the boys or successfully complete a major home repair, the fact that he saves lives on a regular basis seems almost incidental.
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