THURSDAY

You are running through bedroom door into the living room with a smirk on your face. “Uh oh!” You exclaim, and point behind you. “Uh oh!”

Your sister is at the kitchen table painting wooden beads that we will make into ornaments for her tiny tree once they dry.

I set down the bowl I’m washing at the sink and walk into my room, where I find your yogurt bowl almost empty, a bit spilled out onto the carpet. I laugh to myself at your admission—you have no shame. Oh, how I pray it stays that way.

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