I could have sliced about Youngest remembering on the way to the bus stop to tell me about the it'll-be-here-earlier-than-usual-and-hopefully-it's-not-too-late bus reminder.
I could have sliced about the unplanned-I'm-sure-the-kid-didn't-mean-to-touch-it fire drill that happened as kids were entering the building today.
I could have sliced about the 2 separate encounters with special needs kids who let me hop over an alphabet rainbow and shared some out-of-context-but-heartfelt-and-cheerfully-given advice.
I could have sliced about the joy of rediscovering hidden-and-almost-forgotten Halloween candy at just the right moment.
I could have sliced about Husband waiting in the parking lot and me holding dinner for the I-don't-know-where-my-swim-practice-schedule-is Oldest.
But I didn't.
Instead I called for Middle to bring her notebook and pen to the sofa across from me.
I told her a little about what a slice is.
I told her a little about why writers slice.
And then she sliced.
I could have sliced....but Middle did.
