Ten.Seven Hundred & Thirty
The birds are awfully chatty this morning.
The way the morning light splits the trees and falls onto the patio making it look soft and golden. Where are the snails.
I make the bacon even though no one else is awake yet. It’s just me and the birds and the sound of the coffee maker sputtering.
Drink more water.
The words flow more quickly today—in every sense.
“You know what we haven’t done in a long time Mommy?” “Hmmmm. Snuggle?” He looks at me and taps his index fingers together. “Yes. I’ll go get a blanket.” “No! It’s like, 80 degrees in here. Just sit close to me.”
I remember why we stopped snuggling: our tastes in movies has diverged.
There’s nothing as tasty as a dinner you don’t have to make.
The facts are the facts. I tell him that what he would tell me to do is be solution-based in my thinking. There is no wisdom in spending more energy plotting subtle revenge. You just make a new plan and then act on it. That it what will bring true satisfaction.
Who takes care of the caretakers?