“OJ Mami,” he says with all the breathlessness of a critical revelation, “milk has 2 names: last name Du and first name Du.”
And with that, my 4-year-old nephew gulps down his glass of cocoa.
(Yes, yes, I only married the Boy for his genetic material, so sue me.)
He stands in the doorway, framed by light that dared to slip in ‘tween the slats.
He moves closer and I can smell his shower gel.
Leaning in, he whispers the three words women long to hear: “Your coffee’s ready.”
I sigh happily, sit back against the pillows, and know all is right with the world.
Ultra Violet
Wisdom Wears Neon Pyjamas 
Vox populi