seperate and together

Home

Helen napped and woke rough. I put her in the carrier on my back and, standing, ate my own dinner to suit my own appetite: turnips, radishes, butter, cheese, sausage, wine. I set a plate of the “proper” dinner (a roast, mashed potatoes) out for Reed and put on a podcast I have been meaning to listen to about animals in winter instead of some music. Reed at the table, Helen on my back, me at the counter, Margot still sleeping, Adam at work. So often I am set on dinner together but this was fine, too. Quiet. Better than fine.

This afternoon, a sliver of sun came out, and it was just warm. We went to pick up Reed, and the kids and parents lingered outside school, the parents talking about kids, the kids chasing each other. Separate and together. One boy had found an old dried-out lizard’s tail, and I told Reed we could not take it home, and then I changed my mind. “To observe,” he said. How could I say no to that?

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