Calls for bikes and being outside while my mother's estate calls for phone calls and phone calls and phone calls (most of which must be repeated to another person because someone mistyped a word and the world is nothing if not a series of misshapen words and oblong vowel sounds including oooooohhhh nooooo).
But on the happy front, the Eldest now pumps air into his own tires without assistance, not to mention he can find the air pump on his own. I watch him bike from the front window and try not to think of all the life I'm missing while digesting the legacies of death.
