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Mornings

Because sometimes I just want to remember rumpled, ponied, bed-headed hair.
And that she asked for a straw to drink her milk with.  
I want to remember these sweet little faces that are still showing signs of waking up.  I want to remember the predictable routine of “wheats” (as she calls them) for the big one and cheerios for the little one.    
And I want to remember on this particular ordinary morning the sweet words of a not-yet-two-year-old who said out of the blue, Cute pony tail sistah.
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