On Monday my daughter left for school at 7am, as usual, and I left for the hospital. When my daughter got home she took a nap-it was an exhausting weekend for her, too-and then went to a school practice. I'd texted her several times but I didn't get home until after 7, right after she returned.
Our next-door neighbor had left us a pan of enchiladas. I covered them with cheese, stuck them in the oven, and went up to take a shower. When I came back downstairs, my daughter was just asking the enchiladas out of the oven. "This," she said, holding the pan between oven mitts, "is what friendship looks like."
Yes. It is.
Our next-door neighbor had left us a pan of enchiladas. I covered them with cheese, stuck them in the oven, and went up to take a shower. When I came back downstairs, my daughter was just asking the enchiladas out of the oven. "This," she said, holding the pan between oven mitts, "is what friendship looks like."
Yes. It is.
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