I putter in the kitchen and watch amazed as my three little butterflys flutter around their father like moths to a flame. They cannot pull themselves away. Their voices raise in animated excitement as they manuver and position themselves around and around the object of their affections.
I work. I clean. I put away. They play. They laugh. They bond. I remind myself that it isn't a popularity contest. That Briz and I are a team. That his popularity is good for us as a team. I remember that someone must do the work so others can enjoy themselves. Plus, I am unable to offer his kind of fun.