Currants are red

Today was HOT, probably high 80s F, and it seemed an appropriate afternoon activity to start picking the red currants.   Many of my fond childhood berry picking memories include sweltering summer days.  Milo has been keeping tabs on this bush since we moved in, and was excited that some were red enough to pick, at last.

Today was HOT, probably high 80s F, and it seemed an appropriate afternoon activity to start picking the red currants. Many of my fond childhood berry picking memories include sweltering summer days. Milo has been keeping tabs on this bush since we moved in, and was excited that some were red enough to pick, at last.

"I'm a faster picker than Naomi." Milo makes sure I know who's top.  I try to explain that his friends will like it better if he practices saying encouraging things to them rather than saying he's always better.  "But Naomi doesn't know how to pick the red berries," he continues.  She does, actually, and that's not even the point.  My attempt at empathy training falls on deaf ears.

“I’m a faster picker than Naomi.” Milo makes sure I know who’s top. I try to explain that his friends will like it better if he practices saying encouraging things to them rather than saying he’s always better. “But Naomi doesn’t know how to pick the red berries,” he continues. She does, actually, and that’s not even the point. My attempt at empathy training falls on deaf ears.

"See, I AM a good berry picker," she seems to say....through a fringe of unruly hair.

“See, I AM a good berry picker,” she seems to say….through a fringe of unruly hair.

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