“昨天,这个女孩已是歇斯底里。她的父母正在打离婚战。她对我说她不想活了,然后双手紧捂着脸大声地喊‘没有人是爱我的。
“我还以为你是想跟我谈乔纳森的事呢,我说道。
“是啊,请听下去。她拂了下我的袖子接着说,“今天乔纳森径直走向了那女孩儿,递给了她一束粉嫩可爱的花并轻声耳语道‘我爱你’。
My day began on a decidedly sour note when I saw my six-year-old wrestling with a limb of my azalea bush. By the time I got outside, he'd broken it. "Can I take this to school today?" he asked. With a wave of my hand, I sent him off. I turned my back so he wouldn't see the tears gathering in my eyes. I loved that azalea bush. I touched the broken limb as if to say silently, "I'm sorry."
I wished I could have said that to my husband earlier, but I'd been angry. The washing machine had leaked on my brand-new linoleum. If he'd just taken the time to fix it the night before when I asked him instead of playing checkers with Jonathan. What are his priorities anyway? I wondered. I was still mopping up the mess when Jonathan walked into the kitchen. "What's for breakfast, Mom?" I opened the empty refrigerator. "Not cereal," I said, watching the sides of his mouth drop. "How about toast and jelly?" I smeared the toast with jelly and set it in front of him. Why was I so angry? I tossed my husband's dishes into the sudsy water.
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