We woke up to overcast skies — the 7th weekend of rainy weather in a row. It wouldn’t be the most picturesque day to go, but I’d already pushed back the tickets so many times I was just glad that the forecast wasn’t predicting another downpour. The time had come for us to join the rest of the white people in our annual ritual of Fall Family Fun. We were going apple picking.
It was still pretty early — probably around 8:30, and other than the sound of the aggressive snoring down the hall, the house was sleepy and quiet. My five-year-old son is engrossed in a magna-tile construction site in the middle of his bedroom, and I’m sitting on the floor with him clicking tiles together while doing the backwards math of everything that needs to happen in order to get us all in the car and out the door by 10:00. According to my calculations, it’s about time to start the gauntlet of dressing the octopus that is my son.
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