bedtime

the dishwasher was going.

i stood at the sink washing what was left over.

in another room the mother rocked a crying baby.

across the counter i watched the father gather children.

with a boy under one arm calling out his good nights to all he passed,

the father sent the other upstairs to bed.

i continued to wash.

the father called out commands to the bed goers.

get in your bed. go upstairs. put on your pajamas.

and the baby in the other room continued to cry.

i continued to wash.

hustle. bustle. tears and tantrums.

the mother rocked.

the father gathered.

i stopped washing.

standing quietly next to the gate was the twin to the crying baby.

she was passed and walked over.

she neither hustled nor cried. she just waited.

i picked her up.

i swear she smiled.

eventually the bed goers were in bed.

the crying had stopped and the father apologized.

i don't know why.

i was content to watch her be content, just being held.

...

PS. i am in Kentucky for the summer. and our blog is incredibly boring. so if anyone actually even still reads it. i am very sorry and you deserve a prize.