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.

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