…every time Scott writes about our kids.
I call her name. No reply. Louder. Nothing. The dragon’s got her but
good and who can blame her? Can I really compete with such a wingéd,
scaléd green beast?
I try again and this time she looks up. I make the sign for “car,” and she beams, hops down off the couch.
The earth’s rotation wavers slightly from the sheer beauty of her in motion.
It was a wild wild wood…
Notes on June 2010 (First Half)
Now If Only She Were that Good at Keeping Track of the Library Books
Scott Peterson on my reckless snack-distribution habits