Fire-truck

Saturday: shopping in the morning for cabling and connectors that you use to weave together phone, computers and TV. Haircut too. “There, I took most of the white out of it” said the barber helpfully as she held up a mirror to the back of your head.

Coincidentally, a grey day. Spats of rain. Cool air circulating the house through open windows as you mopped the hallway floor.

Took the kids to the park to feed ducks and muddy-up their wellies.

Morning to night didi deeply attached to a small red diecast fire-truck. There on the sheet beside him now. Jiejie pirouettes before the mirror in the grey polka-dot dress Amah mailed, or practices general-idea cartwheels on the red rug.

 

He wakes

appears at the bedside. “Mama!

Where’s my truck?”

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