I returned home from a trip last night, and the family came into the front yard to greet me. Annie ran into my arms like a lovers’ reunion in a movie, but realized mid-hug that she had sticky banana-hands from dinner, so cocked her wrists back and assured me that she was not going to touch me anymore until she washed them. While she adjourned to do that, Paul informed me in a piping voice that I had ridden on an airplane—“You, you ride in a AIRpane!”—and goggled from the doorway at the green taxi that had dropped me off. He had a big scratch on his face from, apparently, I kid you not, getting in a fight with another kid at school over a nap mat. Annie swooped back in from the bathroom for another hug, this time with clean hands, and asked me if I wanted to go snuggle on the couch, and maybe “read a book or something?” I wanted nothing more.