“Mom, do we need the soccer ball?”
“Probably.”
“And my paddleball?”
“Maybe.”
He looked at the bag, which was already bulging.
“What about Mr. Shark?”
I looked at the inflatable shark tucked under his arm.
“Mr. Shark stays home.”
The Shirt
From upstairs:
“Claire. Have you seen my blue T-shirt?”
“Which blue T-shirt?”
“The good one.”
I closed my eyes.
“That narrows it right down.”
He came downstairs ten minutes later in navy.
“What do you think?”
“I think the soccer ball needs its own bag.”
“The shirt, Claire.”
“It’s very blue.”
His mouth pulled sideways the way it does when he’s thinking.
“Maybe the gray one’s better.”
And he went back upstairs.
Mason and the Cooler
While my husband changed his shirt for the third time, my son quietly picked up the bag of sandwiches and carried it out to the car.
Then he came back in and looked at the cooler on the counter. The big blue one. Full of ice, drinks, and a watermelon I’d cut into wedges.
