“Olivia traded her cookies for my blueberries at snack today.” She says this proudly, her pert little nose tipped up in cheeky defiance, and I sigh. I glance at the clock hanging on the wall above the door, trying to ignore the chaos that has become the gym. “It’s ten o’clock, June.” She grins broadly. “Good job, Daddy. Those clocks are hard.”
— Feb 08, 2024 05:27PM
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