This is a picture of the blonde curl on David’s forehead. It is also a picture of a radio head. Get it? Radiohead. This makes me laugh, mostly because it wasn’t Tom’s idea. Tom, who tries to explain the time signatures in Radiohead songs on every car trip we’ve ever taken. Tom, who thinks the song
By now, these snow pictures are two snows old. This is before the southern snowstorm that’s currently outside, before the three-inch snow-pacolypse that knocked out our power, left us without internet and cancelled schools for a week, and after the “2014 Cold Wave” better known as the Polar Vortex. This was our first snow, a typical
After the half marathon, Tom draped our medals around David’s neck. He ran around the living room wearing them, twisting to make them clang and whip around his body. Then he stopped and looked down at them, looked back at us, back at the medals, and then looked at us and said the exact same
October 31 is sort of the deadline for carving pumpkins, right? So this morning, as soon as Mary Virginia went down for her nap, I took David outside to carve our pumpkin. I was hoping for a really fun, sensory experience, but I’ve done this nonsense long enough to know it probably wouldn’t go how
My dad, David’s grandpa, was a firefighter. He’s a retired firefighter now but, even so, you could say firefighting is in David’s blood. Firefighting is the kind of occupation that runs in the genes, and I guess the guys over at Station 12 could tell. I can’t think of any other reason they’d let a
Every day David watches Tom leave for work. Tom says, “Bye, David, I’m going to work!” and David runs to the window to watch Tom get in his car and drive away. Despite that morning ritual, I have this conversation with David over and over, starting about five minutes after Tom leaves, and ending when