Morning battles

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One is less baby than unearthed mandrake. And the other stares wide-eyed at my unholy chant of “Eff! Eff! Efffff!” (Except even less polite.) And the sound machines are roaring. And my tea is getting cold. And I’m asking forgiveness from babies and from God, desperately doing and undoing the virtues of the human heart.

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Morning battles

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