Thin slice of orange sandwiched between clouds and blue sky. Maybe the sun will come out after all.

He asks me what the stuff in the bag is. I tell him that it’s Israeli couscous and he should give it a try. Substitute it in where you might usually use rice. More than anything, the kids think it’s fun because it’s shaped like tiny balls.

Someone ate the entire box of Lucky Charms and I’m trying not to be mad but I am mad.

You know the coffee will be good when you can still see the oils on the beans.

“I wish my games were on Sundays so that you could come.” A little stab of mother guilt right as I head out the door to go to work.

Everything about his whole vibe is uncomfortable. And then he begins to speak and confirms my intuition. Then he swats away his significant other’s hand and I can feel my heart racing a little bit. I see the embarrassment and shock in her face. I’m suddenly very thirsty.

I take a lunch and ask for pictures from the game. Insert more mother guilt. Insert ponderings of alternatives to this. Insert a surge of determination.

I feel too tired to be determined.

Thoroughbreds hang out with Thoroughbreds.

The not-quite-right feeling is lingering. Residual bits from the day. I may need to find new rituals of release after these days with people. Empathy is draining.