Dinner at 3. I make chipotle smashed sweet potatoes, which nobody likes. My mother calls the peppers chi-polt-ay beans, and we make merciless fun.
After, poker chips and beer at the small round table in the room over the garage.
Charlie Brown on the wide screen tv, Jack on the couch, attentive.
Liam being passed from sister to sister to sister. Sometimes to brother, too.
Virgil, asleep, nose between his paws.
A beer in hand. A full belly. A strong, healthy baby, squawking angrily from my sister’s arms. A quiet, happy toddler.
Thanks.
Happy Turkey days!
I was concerned that I, too, mispronounce “chipotle,” so I looked it up. I’m good! 🙂