White t-shirt bean

Life flying, rushing by, days a blur of rush to buy milk and grade tests and prepare lessons in how to use for, while, during in at least a semi-interesting manner so students don't pass out drool spilling on desks in long afternoon classes in warm classrooms that beg for naps.

Little time for my son, who I have to shoo away in the early evenings while I get work done before dinner. This little experiment in officially teaching again has not gone well. For many reasons, the main one being that I'm not ready to have a job where I have to bring mounds of work home with me. When the kid(s) are in school, maybe, we'll see.

In the midst of all this rush, rush, rush, Abe has his bath and puts on a plain white t-shirt belonging to his dad. He comes running out of the bathroom, all squeaky clean, arms outstretched and shouting, "Mom! Look at! Look at!" so proud to be wearing Daddy's shirt to bed. He says he looks like a Lost Boy from Peter Pan. With his long purple hair extension that he got at a street fair last weekend, he especially does.

Before I go to bed, I peek in at him, like I do every night. He's laying on his side like a little bean, white t-shirt nightgown, purple streak of hair down his face, thumb still inserted in mouth (a habit we haven't been able to break yet). And yep, of course, just like always, my heart burst open, like always, like always, like always.