The Church of Zoey and Then Some

I am fairly certain there is something I am supposed to be doing. Always, but more so now. (It is almost September, a month when things seem to change.) Instead I go to the grocery store and buy two apples, cheese, more milk, always more milk, (who drinks so much milk?) And a bag of frozen chicken breasts knowing full well I will never cook them, that they will get freezer burn, that in February of 2011 I will finally throw them out, the frozen block of poultry weighing the trash bag almost too heavy for me to carry down the steep staircase myself. Still, chicken breasts make me feel right.

At midnight Zoey calls out for me as she does every night at midnight. And as I have done every night since she was born I carry her into our bed, past the stack of parenting books that say I shouldn't, past my friends who roll their eyes, past the sharp corner of the frame and over the lump of Bryan who says he cannot sleep what with her kicking. But Bryan is snoring, and outside our window the fog rolls in thick, water vapor condensing tiny liquid droplets into the air, the world full of things that cannot be seen, and tomorrow is coming faster than I think.

Happy Friday, everyone. I hope to see you this Sunday at the Blog Out Loud event!

xo,

Susannah