Ten.Eighty

1. I sleep in late. He's cuddled up close. I missed this too.  

2. Cereal and milk for them. I drink a very watered down cappuccino, make their lunches very slowly. 

3. Someone is already up and has forgotten to do his math sheet. I did not miss this.

4. I've decided that today is a day for doing all the things that require very little thinking. Wash the car. Get the groceries. Fold the laundry. Write my morning pages.

5. I also eat a small bowl of Reese's peanut butter ice cream while watching Wolf Hall. 

6. There is a book somewhere in there.  

7. He keeps asking me what's wrong. There is so much that is...not wrong, just unclear. And it's the lack of clarity that's pressing upon me.  

8. Leftover chili for dinner. I make cornbread muffins.  

9. Navy blue nail polish.  

10. I think of the tiny brass crosses sitting in my drawer and I am pulled back to the screened in porch of Brae Cove, digging through Ann's box of beads and shells and pins; thumbing through torn pages and papers and spent postcards; talking about king cake with the woman from Metairie who works jazz fest every year before heading north for the summer. I think of the tiny brass crosses and so much more.