My son sped past me down the hallway. A four-year old blur.
My daughter half stood half/sat at the table, a sandwich in one hand and Harry the Horrible in the other. She never heard him coming.
“Sissy!” my son called.
“Sissy, guess what?”
My daughter turned the page.
“Sissy…SISSSY,” he hollered again. “GUESS WHAT?”
My daughter looked up, her brother finally coming into focus.
At which time my son spit out what he’d come for. “God loves you sooo much!” he said. And then zipped past two chairs and out the back door.