You grill it, eat it, decide it’s delicious Velcro, and wait for your husband to turn the remainder into pudding.
And some savory…
And some tart…
And some theset with the sour hidden within…
I hadn’t seen the stars in untold time.
My screen painted in peanut butter. I can’t tell. Is that in focus?
“That’s pokey, mama. Don’t touch it. You’ll get hurt.”
Ah, no, bug. It only looks pokey. Touch it. It’s ok.
“That’s a weed, mama?”
No, honey. That’s corn.
“That’s not corn, mama. That’s grass.”
“I planted beads, mama! Patios and I planted lots of beads for you for them to grow.”
“Those aren’t my ‘matoes, mama. My ‘ ‘matoes are at school.”
“I want to take pictures, mama.”