November’s gone

1. Our chat saves me from dwelling on disappointment.

2. Their old house is like an enchanted castle but then the lights reveal its colorful and cozy interior.

3. I sneak under her bedcovers while she watches TV. 

Tuesday’s 3

1. 
   

   I talk and talk and she listens and the sun keeps shining on us despite everything.

2. 
   

   There was no need to argument. To ask for help. I just did it. Nobody seemed to care. I care.

3. 
   

   I feel brain-washed.  In a good way.

Monday’s skies

1. 
   

   An amazing mackerel sky at dawn.  I can’t ever remember seeing a single cloud spread across the sky like that, in the form of a volcano eruption in grey and pink.

2. 
   

   I changed clothes and walked right out of the house, into the sun. It was a perfect walk to the library. And back, under the starry sky.

3. 
   

   There is something healing coming my way every time I experience my teenage daughter’s expressions of deepest sentiments, be it happiness, anger, sadness, pain. Or fear, like tonight. It’s in the knowing she can do it and I never could.

Wednesday anticipation

1. 
   

   I feel assured about not experiencing unplesantries without prior notice. Which is good.

2. 
   

   I help Jay dress up for the dancing class. I feel her heart pound in anticipation.

3. 
   

   Em’s looking forward to going to the book fair.

Finally, Tuesday

1. I feel my unease. Can't focus. Can't work. Then my coworker says something about scanning some competitor's prices and I can't be more grateful for the lucky chance to leave the office for a couple of hours.

2. It's been ages since I sat down next to her to draw. To read, I will do that any time. But to draw, no. It seems too simple, won't shut the mind. But then I do just that. Draw ornaments, patterns, doodle. And I dive into peacefulness, even if just for an hour. We both do.

3. I watch her parade in her new black boots. And I can see she is growing. Too fast.