October 23, 2012

i am still in an i'm-obsessed-with-being-auntie-courty phase

dear buster:

the other day, i was exhausted and on my way to pack my bags. when i came up the stairs, there you were, sitting on the carpet, moving around a few action figures by yourself. i couldn't resist asking to play, though my eyes were droopy, and i figured you'd want your space. it was your time to play, after all. no one was there to bother you or tell you what each toy should say. i snuck in, quietly, prepared for a polite dismissal, and asked, gambling, "what are you doing, buster?" and then, one of the sweetest things happened: you said nothing, but offered me a spot beside you. at that point, my droopy eyes turned to drippy, and i was on cloud nine. you let me play trains with you. you let me dump the bin, attach the tracks, move the cars, even make the sounds! then, you told me it was fun. i'm never going to forget those sweet fifteen minutes. not ever.

i love you, john davis.

love, aunt kikki.


i like words. and you. write me a few?