The morning is smudged with rainy dark. Gradually the snow melts, an the temperatures climb. Along the roads, silver buckets hang from maple trees now. My fingers move slowly this morning, making up sleep debt always takes a few nights. My body still feels somehow separate, as though I’m above it slightly, directing it as I would a marionette. Bean is sick with a cold—the first time he’s been sick all winter. I wish I could wrap him up and snuggle him all day, but he’d protest. So instead I taught him how to play patty cake and he loved it. He went around the house singing “Paddy cake paddy cake baker man,†over and over again and grinning. Anyone know any other fun hand games for small kiddos?
Oh and also, the potted palm in my bedroom isn’t happy. It has big elephant-ear fronds, and is in a smallish bowl. Anyone out there with a green thumb? Do palms like water, or do they like to be dry? Sun or less so?