Bouncy house

We had a church wide picnic tonight. It was fun. There was bluegrass music, barbecue and a bouncy house.  My children lived through the day for that bouncy house. They knew it was coming and every hour they wanted to know if that hour were the appointed hour for the bouncy house.

"No, just ____ more hours." I repeated 47 times.

Then we parked and unsnapped the car seats and clambered into the evening and we could hear the twang of banjo music. Around a hydrangea corner, and there it was--a giant red

Lovey

I brought a potato into my bed tonight because I wanted to write about it. I wanted to write about the crusted soil and the mica flecks and the warm sun on the necks of my children as we harvested it. I even drought the paper bag, torn flat and made doubly useful to cure my precious potatoes. But the basket, trying to contain laundry all needing to be folded but put off and forgotten so now it ought to be ironed, stares primly from the foot of the bed. I know what it's thinking: tasks put off multiply.

Cliche.

My knee is being corrugated by coloring books. We have stacks of coloring books. Pre-formed imaginings. I had planned to put them in the basket with the rest, but we have so many my oversight doesn't matter.

A butterflies and bubbles blanket, lies on the corner of my bed almost covering my first outfit of the