It’s been an hour since thunder boomed and the boys skittered into my bedroom, into my bed, under the covers.
Since then it rained and rained and rained and then the clouds pushed off each other and the sun resumed its role.
But before that happened, Holden intertwined his fingers and said a prayer, even though, he claims, he knows it doesn’t do anything, he just likes to do it. He said “Dear god” and then he thanked him for all of his toys.
It’s been an hour since the storm started, startled me out of my nap.
Brandon has said he wants pizza from Papa Johns because it’s close by, only ten seconds away, and it should be half cheese, half pepperoni.
Holden told me he got a begging gift yesterday, which is a gift you get by begging for it.
This day, at first I thought is so ordinary, so uneventful. I am reading and writing and my boys are playing and talking. But what is ordinary? My boys are growing up and shrinking down, expanding and constricting again and again like little accordions and I am here to keep them safe and fed and I suppose that’s ordinary but even if it is, that’s exactly the kind of life I like to keep, to dwell on, to write about.