“Let’s go” I call from downstairs. The clock is ticking. She got out of bed late throwing everything off schedule.

I return to the kitchen to finish doing what needs to be done.

Minutes pass seemingly like hours as I wait.

“Let’s go!”

I make my way up the stairs…

There she sits, on the bed, mouth wash swishing away, and a book open on her lap.

“We’re running late. Let’s go!”

She pops up, dog ears the page (because apparently she can’t find one of the hundreds of bookmarks we have purchased through the years) and spits before following me.

“Sorry” she says. “but you always say, reading is good for me.”