“Whoa, your toenails are long!”
It’s been a long time since I wrote anything on this blog.
Why?
Life got in the way, that’s it.
And, oh, a few writing projects other than my journalism. A personal essay of mine was published in The Grief Diaries, called The Day After. It’s about the loss of my firstborn, the daughter who came before my three children featured on this blog. Another is How to Seduce Your Wife in The Good Men Project. It’s pretty funny. The third is a novel in the works about my great grandfather, an American who died looking for gold in Tierra del Fuego.
The rush of writing means less time for Pine Tree Paradise, and less attention to the kids, so it seems.
My youngest daughter, now eight years old, said to me, “Daddy, can you cut my toenails?”
“Ah, sure,” I said.
I went and got the clippers from the bathroom and returned to cut her nails on the living room sofa. She stretched out her right leg to me and when seeing her nails I said, “Whoa, they’re long.”
“Yep,” she said.
“They sure do grow fast.”
“Like me.”
