Tonight was supposed to be bath night. I got distracted - I found some ants and figured they took priority.
As I first kissed Laithe goodnight and then Guthrie I didn't regret for one instant that we didn't get to baths. They'll wake up with the same dirty feet they went to bed with and I doubt either one will notice.
There's this line in The Living by Annie Dillard that I cannot find where the mom smells the back of her kid's neck and I've always loved it. Go read the book. If you don't find it wholly depressing, you will love it. Then you can read the line. Anyways I read the book before I had children, like years and years before Guthrie and wondered what the back of my children's necks would smell like.
They smell like summer.
At least tonight they did. Dirt and growing things. Sweat and popsicles. Running in circles and rough housing. So achingly familiar and so different from each other. If I smelled it every day for the rest of my life it wouldn't be enough.
I love this gig.