Each morning we meander up our big hill. The boys, donning their backpacks, stand hand-in-hand waiting for our bus driver to give them the nod before trotting across the street and marching up the steep school bus steps. Settled in their shared seat, they flash me big grins and waves from the window of the big bus as it takes them away to a world full of social interactions of which I will never be a part.
Each afternoon Five has a unique but impressive superlative for the day: fantastioso, terifico, incredibleamunga. He thinks kindergarten is okay.
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