Ten.Seven Hundred & Thirty
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The birds are awfully chatty this morning.
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The way the morning light splits the trees and falls onto the patio making it look soft and golden. Where are the snails.
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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.
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Drink more water.
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The words flow more quickly today—in every sense.
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“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.”
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I remember why we stopped snuggling: our tastes in movies has diverged.
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There’s nothing as tasty as a dinner you don’t have to make.
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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.
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Who takes care of the caretakers?