by the time he could walk, my son had mastered a particular kind of pout that was so sad and effective, it was a kind of genius. he wouldn’t throw a tantrum, and he wouldn’t argue. he would just not get his way, and then he would let his arms fall limp at his sides, and walk away very, very slowly, staring straight ahead until he disappeared around the nearest corner. we would wait for him to disappear, and then try very hard not to let him hear our laughter.

yellow cone flower

saint paul, minnesota

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