Pizza

"Careful," I say.

Jane, reclined on the toy box, the last makeshift seat at the table, balances a plate of pizza on her knees. Knees, bumped up to the table's edge, she leans stork-like over the plate, bites through a meniscus of toppings, misses a chunk of hamburger that then lobs off elbow-side.

"Hey, careful," I say.

"What?" she pulls free of sibling conversation.

"You're spilling," I say.

"Whoops," she half-smiles a shrug rolling down her arm.

"What are you doing?" I say. She sits frozen a moment then fishes an offending meat ball off her lap.

"Getting this," she says now between finger and thumb.

"Why are you sitting like that anyway?" I say.

"I don't know," she says a barb of irritation whipped out like a proboscis then reeled back.

"Are you mad?" I say.

"No," she says.

"Then why does it sound like it?" I say.

A sigh draped over her face, the lines around her eyes relax. "I guess you're just hearing that I'm exhausted," she says.

"Oooh," I say.

"Today was a physically and emotionally draining day."

"Yup," I say, "I know what you mean." Suddenly all the million errands of the day coalesce into one thing, a shared thing.

Words evaporate and we let the delicious pizza Jack made nourish our tired bones.

Gratitude:

6288. Craig gets two new shirts to update his wardrobe.

6289. For the second week in a row we have Asian salad with soup. Delish!

6290. Craig and the girls oversee the first wrestling tournament this season for the club Jack is in.

6291. I finish knitting a wool cap for George. It's nearly too small, juuuust right.

6292. Jack and I go on a date exploring a local grocery store. We leave with a handful of kumquats and a wedge of jackfruit. I've never tasted anything so delicious as jackfruit.

6293. The long days of March surround us filled with studies and chores made longer with wrestling practice and wrestling tournaments. The tired feeling of full days pulls us together. Choosing a soft and kind answer when we most want to snap blooms in deep, deep affection one other.