Playful, elegant, and not above the judicious use of the word “shit."

Why we live in Utah

Today is my father’s 66th Birthday.

When we told Leta that we were going to take a trip and she was going to spend a few nights with Papaw, she immediately resisted. It has nothing to do with my father and everything to do with thinking that she would be separated from Chuck’s three dog beds, and without those, what is there to do during the day?

So I mentioned the BIG! BED! at Papaw’s house where she could read NEW! BOOKS! and then JUMP! up and down, and she said, a big bed? with new books? And right before she embraced the possibilities she got hold of herself and said, NO! Like, wait, you’re trying to trick me and I can SEE STRAIGHT THROUGH IT, ADULT PERSON.

I looked over at Jon and he just shrugged his shoulders as Leta loudly voiced her protestation, and grasping for anything I told her that when she goes to Papaw’s house? She doesn’t have to go to school. Because I am brilliant and amazing. Kid almost did a flip off the kitchen table, and for the next three hours all she did was talk about going to Papaw’s house. And when we dropped her off at his house she told us to go, gave us a kiss, waved goodbye, and then took my father’s hand to lead him toward the NEW! BOOKS!

And I know it thrilled him as much as it did us. Happy birthday, Pop.

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