Of a damn fine fake cheese sandwich, counting down baby snuggles, and what the heck with this Murakami.

  1. My hip tweaks so badly and suddenly I cry out from the corner elliptical. I cover my mouth, embarrassed and thankful that the 6:30am crowd is too sleepy to notice. That MRI needs to be soon.
  2. Its that time of year when I can’t dress myself. Cool mornings, hot afternoons; frigid AC, steamy cars. I remind myself to be grateful for the sun—it will be cold soon enough.
  3. At some point you have to engage with the process, when you have to grow instead of being grown. The passive has to become active.
  4. Incisive. Insightful. Innovative.
  5. I am. You are.
  6. Role reversal over vegan baked goods.
  7. He never asked for help or rescue, only for comfort in his torment.
  8. We read long stories in my bed after she’s sung to herself for an hour in hers instead of napping. I note the dark circles under her eyes and wonder how many of these days, these snuggle-in-the-afternoon-sun-with-my-curly-haired-baby days, are left to us.
  9. The first meeting of the second wave.
  10. Finding out she loves Murakami makes me wonder why I don’t. What am I missing in these meandering stories that manage to be overwrought in simple words?


Of reality vs identification, Big Questions made small, and why the wine is gone.

  1. I should be more upset than I am. The absence of anxiety is giving me anxiety.
  2. My tears surprise me. I don’t think of myself as disabled until I’m trying to describe what I’m dealing with; then it’s a dogpile of symptoms and weirdness from head to foot, followed by guilt at giving them attention, as if talking about the facts of the situation equates to accepting it. They’re tears of frustration.
  3. Once everyone else is gone, we talk about how quantum physics can change a child’s life. Deep down, a susurrus of joy.
  4. The never-ending war between the urgent and the important.
  5. I watch the calendar fill up with a blend of excitement and resentment. I love the connection, but I miss the work.
  6. Maybe it is the work.
  7. She finally asks me the Big Question. I have Big Answers but fumble in scaling them down to toddler size. I tell myself it’s the effort that matters. He’ll take care of the rest.
  8. I thought we were past this.
  9. I’m starting to understand why the wine-swigging SAHM is a trope.
  10. There is a type of competition from which you cannot opt out.


Of wee friendships, a worrisome hip, and the sheer thrill of the bigness of God.

  1. Floppy hat, sunglasses, deck chair, coconut drink—all within the realm of possibility. But one wrong word breaks the illusion, and I know instantly whose voice I’ve been listening to all these weeks.
  2. Damn, Joyce.
  3. There’s never enough time. There’s never enough money. And it’s my choice how I handle it.
  4. “I trust you to tell the difference between what’s real and what’s bullshit.”
  5. She sprints up and nearly tackles her to the ground, both of them shrieking with glee. They hold hands on the walk home. I almost feel indecent overseeing their naked delight at being together.
  6. Re-entry is going smoother than anticipated.
  7. $50K and climbing.
  8. Ow. Twice in an hour. Not a good sign.
  9. I’m laughing in class—not quietly. I’m sure the other students think I’m being pretentious or whatever, but I’m laughing because of how damn happy the subject makes me. The wonder and insane scope of it all overfills me with joy that spills out in giggles and guffaws. It (he) really is so, so awesome.
  10. This is not a neighborhood for the faint of nose.


Of reading some books, carrying on anyway, and the last day.

  1. Apparently the secret to going to waking up at 5am when it’s dark out is a glass of wine and going to bed before 10pm.
  2. The familiar resistance isn’t there. Instead, the rare desire to sit and talk without distraction, to know her story way she tells it.
  3. Oh hey, I did it.
  4. Coffeecoffeecoffee.
  5. Variations on a theme of control.
  6. The thought isn’t going away, which makes me think it might be true. But I keep going as if I never thought it. It’s all I know to do.
  7. It’s silly to think I’d get to keep it, but oh how I wish I could.
  8. They came.
  9. The slow euphoria of completion washes over everyone as the hall thins out, leaving just them at the center table. Promises are made with full hearts and good intentions, knowing they can’t be kept; the one hard truth carefully sidestepped for another, less tender time. Let them have their victory night.
  10. Home.


Of small toddler mercies, little festival gratitudes, and none of the milk I need.

  1. It’s so much harder to wake up when I want to. The darkness reminds me of the upcoming time change, the inevitability of seasons. Hibernation is coming, whether I like it or not.
  2. When nothing is sure, everything is changeable, and anything is possible.
  3. Soft, flow, shift, grow.
  4. I do and don’t want to go in equal measure. It’s our last one, and it’s always incredible, and she’ll love it, but oh my god, all. those. people. All the noise.
  5. I almost lose it in the car. She senses mommy is hysterical but can also tell it’s not about her. She stays quiet for a long time while I collect myself. Mercy.
  6. No Nap McGee strikes again.
  7. Peanut butter and jelly ice cream sandwich. Running into friends. A princess painting a princess. Grass in the middle of the street.
  8. I right myself against the onslaught of look-at-me youth projecting beautiful desperation and expensive naivete. I am not less than these. I am not old or ugly or poor or uncultured. I am the daughter of the most high king, and I am worthy.
  9. Meet her where she’s at.
  10. I’m fairly certain that “half and half” isn’t supposed to mean “use half cream, half water when you’re out of milk for your cereal.”