On the couch with David. I’m slouched. He’s standing on the back, hands braced against the cold glass. We are both looking out the window and waving as the mini-van, lights glowing in the dark Seattle morning, pulls out. Then the windows come down and we can see Rose and John waving at us.

David is asleep. This after I have had to wipe his poopy tushy with one hand while I anchor one ankle with the other and he objects vociferously, after he has spent ten minutes yelling “Daddy come now! Daddy snuggle David! Daddy! Daddy!”

As I head downstairs, I can smell the sweet potatoes I put in the oven before lunch. They are melted, caramelized. I break them open and add chocolate chips. The chocolate melts. I read a romance novel that a friend wrote and eat them slowly.