Will

"Joey, don't" I say.

My feet propped, babe in arms, I lean into the plaid couch. Craig and I pause conversation and stare at Joe. He wheedles a stack of Would You Rather cards on the desk, looks right at me.

"JoOOeey," I say.

He grins, tilts his melon-sized head, blink-blinks those glossy blue eyes.

"Go. Ahead," I say and blink-blink my glossy greens back at him.

"I won't," he says. He retracts that hand, blink-blinks again. He blinks. I blink. He blinks.

"Go, ahead," I say again.

He backs up. His grin slack, he arches his eyebrows. "I WON'T," he says. He pivots on a heel, something like control suddenly there before him.

"Go. Ahead," I say.

He seizes it, self-control. Like the tail-end of a flag fraying in the wind, he seizes it and runs. It's a banner trailing after him. Self-control.

Go, ahead," I call.

"You heard me," he shouts. It's a drumroll down the hall, those feet pattering away, Joey driving the chariot of his will.

Gratitude:

5664. Butter croissants.

5665. Coffee.

5666. Craig rototills the garden.

5667. Jack wrestles his hardest at the last wrestling match.

5668. Jane and Lu go to a tea party.

5669. Jack finishes practicing piano. "You hardly played any of the time." Jane says. "Yes, I did. I just had to look at how the song goes," Jack says. "I don't want to hear excuses," Jane says.

5670. Excuses, indeed. We work to eradicate the nasty pests.