We’re sitting on the kitchen floor.

Me.  Boy.  Puppy.

First one crawls into my lap.

Then the other.

And I know whatever plans I had have just vanished.

The boy.

White hair grown longer than his collar and every time we’re together my dad reminds me that I should have his hair cut.

He’s clinging to his cruddy yellow blanket and patting the puppy.

The puppy – he’s brown and shiny and snuggled in for all he’s worth and I can’t stop rubbing his short coat.

My legs are itching to stretch and my right foot is asleep.

I’ll endure.

There’s no way I’m going to be the first one to break up this miracle.

The boy’s fingernails are dirty.

There’s a rip in the left leg of his pants.

He’s a mess.

I’m a mess.

The dog’s probably a mess too.

I’m sitting on the floor of our kitchen and I can see it needs a good sweeping

but the half hour I spend cross-legged on the floor is the best half-hour of my day.

My boy.

Our puppy.

And a short little pause button.