'Tis the Gift to be Simple (2 years in Houston anniversary post)
I entered the front door to hear my niece crying somewhere in the back of the house. It was the tired, sad type of crying typical of three year olds who refuse to take naps, so I didn't rush as I looked around for her. I thought at first she was in my sister's bedroom, but the cry sounded closer, and slightly muffled. Lillian was crying from inside the living room ottoman. At the same time, my sister Erica, opened the front door for the bug man. We had recently moved into a new house, and with the discovery of a dinosaur sized cockroach in the pantry, called the exterminators immediately. While the bug man sprayed along the edges of the walls, I sat on the long, rectangular ottoman. It was covered in cushioned brown leather with the top split in two to access storage inside. My niece had recently taken to hanging out in there, sometimes with her ipad to watch shows. My sister made sure she propped the lid with a book, but in Lillian's state of mind, she kept pushing
