Of how pasta is worse than wine in some ways, the cone of shame, and a midnight snack.

  1. Wheat hangover.
  2. I swear when I look at the food bowl. I forgot she wasn’t supposed to eat after 6pm. No one’s in when I call the office, so I’ll have to take my chances.
  3. A solitary construction worker gazing out over the edge of the escarpment onto the hazy city below.
  4. Are you remembering or imagining?
  5. I’m on the verge of panic by the time dinner rolls around. Too much conflict, too many needs, too little time, too little me.
  6. The cone of shame degrades us all.
  7. He reminds me I said the same thing four years ago: too selfish. He reminds me that I chose love over fear. He reminds me I have a choice this time, too.
  8. Four hours of conflicting emotions. I try to explain but never make myself clear. Tears I can’t entirely blame on hormones.
  9. Genoa salami on white with butter.
  10. These late nights are killing me.


Of disappearing storms, being a witness to joy, and cutting it awfully close.

  1. The morning light is dangerous as I sit to write, a blue sky broken by the harsh grey demarcation of a thundercloud. When I finally lay down the pen, the storm is nowhere to be seen.
  2. It’s a box of donuts, overfilled with perfectly baked and decorated treats. It’s my heart, reprovisioned with sweetness.
  3. Our first week home together. We both have a lot to learn.
  4. I knew I’d missed her, though I hadn’t realized how much until I see her. A little part of my soul warms up as we chat. My kind of people.
  5. More than a new toy–a dream fulfilled, above and beyond what he’d asked for. His joy is palpable and contagious, his face beaming. I get misty remembering it hours later. So rare. So precious.
  6. It isn’t until late afternoon that I realize my body’s discomfort isn’t a half dozen separate things; it’s one very specific thing. I check my app. Yep. Right on time (almost).
  7. Work emails. It’s been a while.
  8. We laugh and eat and drink and tell stories and forget to do the main thing we planned to do. None of us minds. Another time.
  9. I miss his doofy fuzzface.
  10. I didn’t forget. But it was a near thing. (Timestamp: 11:45pm ET)


Of interesting job prospects, being bested by a toddler, and the sad fact that a bath comes at the very bottom of my to-do list.

  1. I’m so engrossed in compiling my application that I lose track of time. I spot the clock in my peripheral vision when I meander into the kitchen for a refill and yelp out loud, then dash upstairs to rouse the troops. I hope it’s a good omen.
  2. The words we speak are the house we live in.
  3. Stage one rockets, away.
  4. I add another oversized cloth bag to the stash–reminders of how she shows her love.
  5. Two out of three naps.
  6. By the time I emerge from her room, I’m thoroughly beaten. I shouldn’t be. I should be stronger, able to brush off her casual slander and lies. All I am tonight is sad.
  7. The smell of warm tires inside the house. I’m concerned but don’t know what to check for.
  8. It’s like six conversations at once, all different people, all different topics and volumes and cadences, all important, all time-sensitive.
  9. I want to drown it all in water hot enough to scald, to soak aching limbs and a battered soul until my vision swims and I can barely stagger to bed fast enough to catch myself swooning into sleep. But I won’t. Because there’s work to be done. Always more work.
  10. Her message comes at the perfect moment–a buoy as I start to slip under. She’s the master.


Of the first day of the rest of our lives, conversational do-overs, and refusing to give up.

  1. Day one.
  2. I leave the switch and write instead by the steel blue light of the rising day. A blanket of clouds behind the rooftops teases rain, and I wonder what today holds, savoring the quiet but listening for thunder.
  3. The one thing I don’t like about fishing is the chasm of disappointment between a tug on the line and reeling it in empty. Doing it with sand between my toes and a beer in my hand is one thing; doing it with my livelihood is another.
  4. I sense the thinnest edge of resistance–more skittish than awkward–but I pretend not to notice, preferring the familiar patter I’ve missed these quiet years to the hurt we pretend not to feel.
  5. I’m getting used to feeling hungry.
  6. For four hours, we talk, laugh, reveal, and encourage the way we should have five years ago. How much we’ve grown.
  7. “It’s not about how to juggle all this stuff at once anymore; it’s about choosing which thing I’m going to drop each day.”
  8. I pray viciously against the darkness, railing against signs too early to be noticed by anyone except another victim. You cannot have her.
  9. Caffeine at 7:30pm. #rebel
  10. Let us not grow weary.


Of unexpected abundance, mom shaming myself, and (finally) the true smell of summer.

  1. A screaming nightmare wakes us all. She says it’s a ghost, but the third time she confesses it’s a ploy to get more cuddles. There must be a word for feeling overwhelming love commingled with exasperation. Probably German.
  2. There’s more than there should be. I smile and move on, gently brushing aside my need to know why, where, and how. It is. And that’s enough.
  3. I run the numbers a couple of times, sliding scales and values. We can make it. It shouldn’t even be that hard. One or two wins will make all the difference.
  4. It came! On to round two!
  5. Bless you, Walmart cashier, for having pity on this dazed momma who based her entire price matching strategy on thinking it was Saturday.
  6. I yell for the first time. Really yell–not the raised snappish voice I’ve felt guilty for in the past, but the full-throated, booming register of frustrated authority. I’m disgusted with myself as I cry later.
  7. “You’re burnt out because….”
  8. Quantum anything fascinates me–it’s like peeking into God’s toolbox. If only I didn’t feel a hundred watts too dim whenever I read about it.
  9. The rare smell of a charcoal grill, the hum of a lawnmower, the slowly cooling late sun.
  10. I acknowledge feeling rejected, overlooked, not good enough. I let it pass through. I push forward.