Recumbent, propped on the palm one hand, she pops the other palm up, a five fingered staccato.
Her face, a spring peony, "'Cause Jesus love me," she says.
We nod and snap a yellow lego in place.
4267. A cinnamon dulce cappuccino, the coupon and conversation that went with it, another friendship threads through my life.
4268. Lucy hands me a teardrop scallop of paper. "It's a picture of me and you on a boat," she says.
4269. Eight ice cream dishes.
4270. I introduce Joe to manners. At lunch, we have him sign "please" before every bite for practice. "Do you think he's starting to think this is ridiculous?" Jane giggles. Joe protests with a shout and feigned cry. "Alligator tears," Jack says.
4271. Jack narrates wrestling moves, context, and strategy while we make breakfast together.
4272. We talk about why he doesn't wrestle girls. "I know, because we don't want our bodies to get pushed together in that special way even though we aren't asleep," he says.
4273. "The Mongols were in Mongolia," I realize halfway through the book on China. "I didn't know that. It makes sense. They sound the same." Jane grins, "You see," she says, "history isn't just memorizing a bunch of dates. It's finding out what happened."
4274. Jack wins three wrestling matches.
4275. The gang of cousins and siblings, parents and grandparents, hold up in the stands. We cheer and visit, share the burdens and joys of life.
4276. I fold a blanket at the end of my bed, putter and tidy up. Lucy tags along. "I know you're gonna put your make-up stuff on," she says, "'cause we are going on a date."
4278. "I know what a froggie says, : she continues, "cricket-cricket, cricket-cricket. Logan told me that 'cause his dad knows lots about animals."
4279. Joe pukes sweet taders all over his bed. I hope it's just that he ate a whale of a portion of sweet potatoes at dinner, but either way, I soak in the snuggles and coos, smoosh my cheek against his.
4280. We prepare for Lucy's periodic eye appointment. We pray all is well.