1. I am squished between the two of them. Instead of moving the baby I crawl over him and make my way to his bed, get under the cover and close my eyes. 

2. I can’t fall asleep again and instead replay bits of my earlier dream: eating dinner with Boo, walking around New Orleans with my old roommate Ginny, trying to catch a flight to somewhere alone.  

3. I heard two of the kids in the loft watching tv. I know that they don’t know the time has changed. But they are quiet.  

4. Cappuccinos made with coconut milk. Daydreams of dried lavender. Gray skies. Fireplace on.  

5. At least there is a fireplace here.  

6. I warm up the loaf of sourdough, slice it up and lay the cutting board on the kitchen table with butter and strawberry preserves. One bowl of mixed berries and one bowl of grapes.  

7. I need to get out of the house. To be alone. Even in the rain. Turns out everyone likes to go out on Sunday afternoons.

8. Her home felt so loved on and lived in, layered with story, an extension of her self. I want that. I am craving that.  

9. Leftovers for dinner.  

10. Journaling at night. Writing myself out of insecurity. A fresh idea. Taking the questions into my dreams.