The birds shake the tree outside the window. The house fan clicks on and off. We keep the windows shut to keep the smoke out. The day churns as the grey sticks as I grab onto the good stuff.
I want so much art out of the every day. I want the small moments of goodness to stick. How it took an hour to pick up KK’s friend and drive them to the mall, a trip that should have taken much less time. While we railed at the stop lights and the traffic, inside I was singing. Bless the state of Washington for making it illegal for KK to drive her friends for the first six months after she receives her license. Law and long clause that means I spent an hour with KK in the car.
I want August to last even with its smoke. I want the nights where there is no bedtime to stretch and stretch. Instead they are numbered: August will fall into September and school will start. For now, I find myself thanking my part time work. Thank you limited work for allowing me to say yes to the errand that took too long. Thank you work that is interesting for providing fuel for conversation after conversation with my kids. Did you know gender is a social construct? What gives you the most energy? That if you’ve met one person with autism, you’ve only met one person with autism? The car conversations unfurl from my work, and my work unfurls into part time hours around my girls.
The day is young and my girls sleep. August 16. I’ll count every day. The neighbor across the street arrives home from taking her 18-year-old daughter to work. I watch her walk into her house. She’s counting the days like me, the grey a brilliant backdrop to the flowers and the birds and our daughters.