Sawdust

Our eight year old is holding a saw. And she is jubilant. A faint haze and the smell of fresh- cut pine hangs in the bedroom and four piles of sawdust lie on the floor like little Mayan pyramids. “We’ve finally figured out what to do with the bunk beds!” she exalts. To her right, the bunk beds sit, carefully severed, top bunk from bottom. Continue reading