Ten.Eight Hundred & Twelve
Up before the alarm. I blame the dreams.
I open the sliding glass door and then promptly close it. Too humid.
Flour, baking powder, salt, sugar, milk. I brush the scones with melted butter and sprinkle them with the raw sugar.
I watch as she sticks a few slices of salami into a plastic baggie and adds an apple and some pretzel chips. I remember that if I don’t want to do it myself, I gotta release the result.
Thank goodness for leftover Chinese food.
But why? Why is this taking me through these hills on this narrow road that goes around all of these curves? Note to self: don’t take Mountain House Parkway. I can never do this again. I hate driving these roads.
She tells me about her new project. I can get behind this.
Shadow play. “Lamplight makes the shadows play and posters take the walls away, the t.v. is your window pane, the view won’t let you down.”
Let it go.
This parenting stuff is no joke.