Well there ain't nothing wrong with the way she movesHenry popped downstairs this morning and asked for synonym toast. I think he meant cinnamon, but he's just like his mother and found a way to stand out in the crowd of two in the kitchen.
Scarlet begonias or a touch of the blues
And there's nothing wrong with the look that's in her eyes
I had to learn the hard way to let her pass by
It's okay. Yesterday as we were driving downtown, I was narrating my usual mix of kid-friendly expletives at other drivers and pointing out neat things and at a long stoplight I said Oh look, a hipster boy with a manbag and a jaunty floral scarf. Ruth gazed at him until the light turned green and then said Awkward.
I laughed for the remainder of the day, I think.
Yesterday we filled up on library books and I snagged a copy of Living with the Dead which made me squee virtually the whole way home. I didn't crack it last night, my eyes were far too heavy by the time Ben called for the final conversation of our day. He said he was craving my lip gloss and my hair for a security blanket and he was tired. That he was back in his hotel and he told me about his afternoon and what he ate for dinner and he asked how long it took Ruth to fall asleep after he talked to them at bedtime and if I was doing any more drawing that I could scan in for him and he said he loved me.
I said I loved him too.
Good day?
Yeah, it was, actually.