What do you do when you’re not quite 10-year-old son is almost as tall as you? Within inches. I may or may not have to stand on tippy toes to kiss the top of his head.
We can fly off into space and land on the moon, yet no one has created shatterproof phone “glass.” Maybe a first-world problem, but still legitimate.
However the whole phone hitting the metal drawer pull experience hasn’t been all that bad. It’s liberating putting the phone on the back burner. {And it will be a different kind of liberating when it’s back to being good as new.}
I think the speed of life is crazy.
I also think that over all the many, many years not much has changed. The scenery has changed, the stage has changed, and the players have changed. But the characters? The characters haven’t changed.
I’m not quite giving up on the idea of tacos for dinner. Every single night.
Sometimes I feel like 10 is the new 15 and I don’t know where 38 stands.
The older I get the more I crave silence. I’m finally realizing I need it for my own health and brain function.
I have a really good memory for weird facts and numbers and specific things. But I swear I cannot remember a thing about Beau’s babyhood and toddlerhood. It’s a blur and then some. Almost like I was watching those years looking in from the outside.
Summer in Arizona is a long season of heat advisory after heat advisory. Every day Beau asks me why anyone would decide to move to here. Every day I’m not sure what to tell him.
Maybe you can’t force creativity. But you can force documenting the days, and that’s good enough for me.
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