fragments

I sit here with the windows open - 70 degrees on a January day. Yesterday, I had blankets wrapped around me while I worked at my desk in the living room. Two days from now, they are calling for snow. Tell me this is normal.

Shout did her homework on the picnic table outside. Screaming at the bold squirrels that got too close for comfort. She spends her afternoons with purpose. Plots them out. Schedules her time and then executes. I'm not sure how she's my child.

On the dining room table is an orange box only slightly smaller than my first car with Tide's new shoes inside. His feet grow into a new size about every 14 days. It won't be the economy that brings us to bankruptcy, it will be the shoes.

Cheer lies on the couch, suffering from a mystery ailment. His head and belly hurt. Yet SpongeBob, which makes my head throb on my best day, doesn't seem to be irritating him. The spelling book they sent home from school, however, is sending him into paroxysms.

My mind is tired and preoccupied. Work and play. Life and death. Friend and foe. Responsibility and freedom. Choices, decisions, situations.

I will sit outside and dare the squirrels to come too close.