Read Bee her bedtime stories out on our balcony tonight. You would have thought I had served her the moon on a silver plate, she was so excited. We read "Harold and the Purple Crayon," and if you don't know the story, there's Harold, he has a purple crayon, and he draws what the author narrates. Or the author narrates what he draws. It's a nice little literary paradox.
As we read "Harold" and watched the sun set on our street. We are soaking up this beautiful spring weather as much as possible before the mosquitoes crash the party.
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