The clouds parted this morning almost paralyzing us as at the sight of the sun.
I sat warily on the back step still wearing yesterday’s sweats and watching my kids crouch in their underwear, sidewalk chalk in both hands.
All was mellow.
Until my son–the one who fell asleep minutes before eleven and rose pseudo-perky before six a.m.–sniffed with real tears that he needed some ‘bu-ttention’ and crowded my lap.
I rolled my sweats to my knees–clearly the sixty-two degrees talking.
At which time my son asked, as he touched my leg with a brave finger, “what are those poke out things?” And then continued with concern…”do they hurt?”
I simply concluded that it wasn’t that warm and re-covered my dangerous leg hair.