"If you wash off blood it will come off really fast," Joe says.
"Yep," I say.
"'Cause I poked my finger with a stapler, and blood came out," he says, "and I went in the bathroom, and it washed off REALLY fast," he says.
"Oh," I say.
"But if you squeeze it, blood will STILL come out." He's in teacher mode, eyes round as the moon, his face slanted with the tilt of authority. I watch, perfectly facing his face.
"Yep," I say.
"And I WILL wash it off."
"Yes," I nod. I let his words roll across the room like rice at a wedding, the newness of discovery married to his bright face.
5836. Craig and I plant two plum trees out front, one golden, one Italian.
5837. I make a new friend, a Christian. It's amazing how the Spirit of God resounds between Christians.
5838. I sprout 172 tomatoes and 54 zinnias. They come up long and leggy. I hope they will get their second set of leaves before I have to transplant.
5839. Our small group meets for our monthly dinner. Such good friends.
5840. Sunny weather continues to bless us, the children deep in the pleasures of basketball.
5841. I eat something I'm allergic to and fall into the deep well of a headache. A night and a day and I emerge. The absence of pain feels like bliss.
5842. A friend has her blood tested for food intolerances and is shocked by the results. I'm intrigued.
5843. Craig takes me on a date to the coffee stand down the road then we head to the greenhouse a little farther down.
5844. I continue to care for my husband and children and find each sacrifice an act of love.