It's difficult to gauge just how old she is; from across the coffee shop, she looks quite middle-aged. My mum's eye knows that the baby she is cradling hasn't been here long.
I'm delivering my cup and plate to the grey wash bin at the back, and so I pause at her table:
"Now that person is brand-new!"
She looks up at me and smiles and the years fall away from her face.
"He's two weeks."
"He's gorgeous; congratulations!"
She resumes her rapt perusal of his sleeping face.
I remember that.
Today, the Resident Fan Boy and I are attending yet another parents/teachers conference concerning younger daughter's plans for next year. Wish us luck.
FIST FLOWERS OF DOOM
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Ahh, Spring! The air is crisp, the flowers are blooming, and the garden
slugs are JUST peeking out from their hidey holes:
...in our cakes.
Ew.
Maybe we...
22 hours ago
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