the world. And as I watched your reflection in the side mirror and saw your soft curls blowing in the wind on our way to the park, I couldn’t help but think of all the wonderful things you are. But that was mostly because you were temporarily silent. Which was entirely the opposite of the car ride home in which you were screaming for more after being
peeled from the playground equipment, your brother was singing an unintelligible song at the top of his lungs and somewhere in the background was the faint sounds of the new Jackson Brown acoustic CD we had all been peacefully enjoying twenty minutes before. And above this familial din, I could still hear the simple sigh from your father which I completely understood as, “Sweet Jesus, there is still three hours, a bath and a feeding until these things are in bed.”And many more. . . . .
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