Soup

"No, honey, that soup is for people who go poop in the potty," I say.

"NoOOooOo," Betsy groans.

"That soup will make you go poop and poop and poop," I say. Ham bean soup. "That soup is for potty goers."

"NooOOo," she says, forehead wrinkled, mouth curved in perfect upside down semi-circle. I grin; she drives her eyebrows deeper. Soup. She LOVES soup.

"I know what she's thinking," Jane says, "THIS IS RIDICULOUS. I'M GONNA GO ASK JANE."

"Yup," I say. "She sure is." Jane shines a smile from the far end of the table. We grin across the plane of Betsy's will, weightless affection for that two-year-old reverberating between us.

Gratitude:

6248. "You have to watch Betsy really close," Jane says. "She's at the age where she hasn't really developed the muscle of self-control really well, but she's really capable."

6249. Books. Someone passes on a bunch of books. It feels like Christmas.

6250. Silicone trivets, the kind that store in concentric circles.

6251. A couple of new sweatshirts to update my everyday work clothes.

6252. We watch the super bowl. Joey keeps calling it the super ball.

6253. At halftime we can't help but stare at Lady Gaga. Finally I click the tv off. "My first thought when she came out," Jane says, "was WHY IS SHE WEARING A SWIMSUIT IN THE FREEZING WEATHER? That was ridiculous, appalling, and laughable."

6254. George continues his career as a smiler. We all melt.

6255. The children become obsessed with the Laura Ingles Wilder books and consume them like starving people seeming to memorize every single farming detail as they go.

6256. Chicken dinner with asian salad, rice, chips, and pleasant conversation, better than a restaurant.

6257. We celebrate Craig's birthday.

6258. I find great joy in reading a daily devotional of John Newton.

6259. I make whipped shea butter.

6260. Though I feel ensconced in household chores. I cherish the company, and set my heart to enjoy the tasks at hand.