eleventh and twelfth

I had to leave Sam and Scout there to finish the process of registering for school or I’d have been late for my breakfast date. I secured hugs from both, a top-of-head kiss from Sam, and pressed a blank check into Scouty’s waiting hand: One drives and the other handles the finances and thusly everyone feels important.

As I emerged from the crowd Samuel’s art instructor was leaning in the doorway of the library, one arm across it, hand fixed to the jamb opposite the one that propped his body.

“What’s the password?” he asked, grinning in the fool way of letches and the altogether cluelessly unsubtle. I’m sure he just thought he was being friendly.

“Um, ‘I know how to make a fist’?” He drew his arm away, allowing me passage.

I was recounting the story to Maxim and Tess over biscuits and gravy and fresh-squeezed juice half an hour later.

“It’s the scrubs, man, I’m telling you,” insisted Tessa.

“And also the awesome boobs in them,” added Maxim.

Holy shit, I’m the mother of a junior and senior in high school. How do these things happen?

:: the superior children, one million years ago ::

pee ess….I can’t believe I ever allowed such an ugly couch to be planted in my house; this is concrete proof of how severely broke we once were