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

Five more minutes

I’ve said this before but the best thing about the five years difference in the ages of my girls is how well Leta handles Marlo. She indulges her every morning before camp, and after I get them dressed and ready—bathing suits, shorts, shirts, hair, teeth, more hair, and then even more hair—they play several games in Leta’s room. This morning I yelled up to the both of them, “Sunscreen and socks!” indicating that we’d be leaving for camp soon and engaging that dreaded daily application. WHY CAN’T THEY STAND STILL WHILE I’M RUBBING IT INTO THEIR FOREHEADS?

Marlo bellowed, “Just five more minutes!”

We didn’t really have five more minutes, but look at that face. Fine. Five more minutes. But only because of the dimple.

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