glass half full


It's everywhere.
I survey the scene, noticing the discarded pull up over by the window. It's on the carpet, his bed, his shirt, pants, arms, legs and on the heels of his little white sport socks. James, having been quarantined to a plastic tote lid, looks up at me and says, "Sure am glad it's not on my eyes, mom."

He takes after his father.

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