The back of this boy’s head, usually smelling of a decadent cocktail of
Baby Magic, sweat, Tide and (oddly) tempura paint,
is one of those small, seemingly insignificant things that makes
my heart skip several beats.
Every. Single. Time.
Oh, the back of the neck. It slays me, too. xoxo
Tempura paint. Oh. the days of painting with my children. We made wrapping paper for Christmas with potatoes. We carved shapes – like stars in the potatoes, then stamped them into leftover meat trays that held paint and went to town on big sheets of newsprint.
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