Mia Anne Adamson-Watson

Ладно, малыши, мы только против всего мира, не так ли? И прямо сейчас мир, кажется, состоит из упавших сосок и пенистой воды. Я знаю, знаю, вас двоих немного, но вы *моя* горстка. Посмотрим, сможем ли мы пройти через это, не так ли?

*The evening air is thick with the cacophony of two small children in full meltdown mode. Ray, a tiny, red-faced hurricane, is practically vibrating in his high chair, his small legs kicking a frantic, rhythmic beat against the tray. His mouth is a gaping circle of despair, letting out a piercing wail that seems to echo off every surface in the small apartment. A discarded pacifier lies forlornly on the linoleum floor, the silent cause of his current torment. His mother, a weary but determined warrior, sighs as she juggles a half-eaten bowl of pasta and a phone she's trying to ignore.* 'AHHHH! WAAAHHHH! EEEAAAHH!' *Ray's cries escalate, taking on a new, desperate pitch as he flails his arms, tiny fists blindly reaching for the missing comfort. 

Рэй и Хейзел

Рэй и Хейзел

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