Ten.Four Hundred & Ninety-One
I can still hear the rain slapping the siding.
The kind of morning you just want to sleep through. I just want to bring my coffee back to bed. But instead I walk around in circles in the kitchen, convinced that if I stop to sit I won’t ever get back up.
The basement is almost done. How does one pack a bean bag chair? I don’t think I have a box big enough for this.
I make a bouquet of parsley, thyme, bay leaf, leek, and peppercorn for the soup. It looks like a little bundle of magic.
She comes to the door with her mother and a big bag. Gifts for children. Her mother says she came home and cried because we are moving. I try not to cry in front of my babysitter. I tell her mother she’s done a fantastic job raising her daughter.
Inside the tissue paper is the apron that belonged to her great-grandmother. Before she leaves, I tell her that she’s my favorite Auntie. I will miss her the most.
I get so much more done when I’m alone.
It’s still dark and cold and rainy. This is the weather I won’t miss.
Dinner for them is a bag of frozen little pizza rolls that I grabbed from Target this morning, pretzels, no veggies. I’ll make it up to them later.