Twenty-six degrees, sunny with a breeze.
A perfect Sunday for walking in the woods. With one child examining every leaf, every stick, every stone in minute, adult-mind-numbing detail. And the other screaming, and screaming, and screaming for her teeth, her cold and her lack of Mama's breast.
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“The difficulty with this conversation is that it's very different from most of the ones I've had of late. Which, as I explained, have mostly been with trees.” - Douglas Adams