Both kids sick. Husband moving only his thumbs by the low glow of computer and XBox.
I forgot to stretch post-run, am wondering now if it's too late. I think not. Roo is tucked in my bed with rosy cheeks and pale eyes that give away her headache. Henry thumps away at Paper Mario in the playroom. We're very independent tonight, each of us plugged into our own device.
I type in my running clothes, just like I ate. (Leftover tofu and some soggy veg. Not too shabby.) The backs of my legs stick to the coffee table.
The dog is wrung-out from our jog. He lays on the back porch like a lumpy bedspread. Kitten wraps herself around the back of E's computer like a purring neck pillow.
The sky is periwinkle, the best kind of sky. I weigh the choice to crawl into bed next to my burning daughter against the effort it would take to walk in the backyard, open the spa.
Work is chaos. Work is bad upon worse upon fear lately. I've never considered prayer for taxes 'til now.
It's so good here in real life.
Tomorrow's our anniversary. Eleven years. Complicated since our separation. Still a thing to celebrate. Still a good memory. Still glad I did it.
He smiles at me across the dark room. Look at your cat.
I love him.