their work in papers
brought home crumpled, in drifts;
making the world
All the papers that come home threaten to overwhelm the house. They cover the tables, the shelves, the refrigerator. It's not the paper or the product that I treasure. It's the process. The progress from scribble to faces to letters to stories; messages left along the way, marking where they're going. With their crayons and pencils and crumpled math papers they are constructing the world all over.