More Blame

“Once again. Not happy.” Buddy-roo‘s defiant proclamation, this morning, from the foot of the bed. Her (initial) complaint is still a mystery, some inadvertent slight by her sister. It’s very early. I’m too weary to care.

I lift my head off the pillow. Her arms are crossed. Her bottom lip protrudes. It’s a very mad face. I start to snicker. (Can you blame me?)

“It’s cuz of you, mama.”

Of course, I knew that.

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