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My Daughter Measured Twice and Cut Once

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My Daughter Measured Twice and Cut Once

I am teaching my daughter to build a bookshelf. She measured twice. Cut once. Better than I did at twelve.

Woodworking is patience you can hand down. Sawdust in her hair. Pride in my throat.

Furniture outlives arguments. Joints outlast moods. The shop is where I put down offshore rotation and pick up something that stays in the house without smelling like diesel.

She sanded the edge too hard. We fixed it together. That is also the lesson.

The story continues in the body after the words stop. Shoulders lower, or they do not. Tomorrow arrives with its own list. I am still here, which is not nothing.

I do not need a moral. I need an honest next step. Sometimes that is rest. Sometimes it is showing up again before you feel ready.

The story continues in the body after the words stop. Shoulders lower, or they do not. Tomorrow arrives with its own list. I am still here, which is not nothing.

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