Cold, damp, raw, grey; a bleak part of winter. Ready to curl up by the fire and go through some seed catalogs; I imagine two giant pots of basil, and maybe some currant tomatoes.
My son, then about 4 years old, was being his wild self right at bedtime. I said, "no more monkey business!" in my best stern-mom voice, and he looked me gleefully in the eye and declared, "infinity more monkeys!"
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