Sara was in the kitchen, making herself a latte. Ben sat at the kitchen table and drew a picture of only he knows what.
“Momma,” Ben said, still rubbing the crayon hard against the pink construction paper.
“Yes, what is it, Ben?”
“When I grow up, I’m going to be a workerman, a teenager, a lady who serves food, a doctor, a nurse, and a person who sits at a desk at a library.”