The other day Cole and I were sitting around hanging out together. Out of the blue, he looked at me and said, "I want to be an adult."
A few years ago, Cole started playing T-ball. Practices were Saturdays and Tuesdays.
I came home late, because Amy had given me a night to myself.
Chloe's really big into equality lately. She not into voting rights or even human rights, but her rights. Her rights to have the exact same thing of everything Cole has or receives.
Chloe went to the dentist to have her teeth cleaned. No big deal. We've done it several times before and she's always gotten good check-ups.
Chloe usually calls me "Daddy." Lately, however, for some reason she's been calling me "My Daddy."
I was doing some shopping at a local department store recently, when I heard the sound of a small child crying nearby.
A couple of months ago, I went to a local home improvement store and bought a big bag of topsoil.
Chloe and Cole have not yet learned that sound travels. Nor have they learned that whispering isn't whispering when you do it louder than a freight train.
I call it Chloe's "Story of Love."
At dinnertime one evening, Cole wasn't eating his sandwich. He did, however, make several references to dessert.
When I was a child, my father refereed basketball games. I remember two or three nights a week, he would come home wearing his black-and-white-striped shirt.
Chloe and Cole still sleep with a light on in their rooms at night.
I've shared before that I am, by nature, a saver.
Tonight in the Myers household we had our first occurrence of a broken heart. Honestly, I thought it would be much longer before this happened. I also expected that when it happened, it would be Chloe.
Once, while we were on a trip to see Amy's folks in Texas, we stopped at a store to stretch our legs and take a bathroom break. When we walked inside, we saw a large display of polished rocks.
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