I spent the middle part of last night awake after starting out of sleep in a full-on bodily panic from a dream in which I tried unsuccessfully to outrun a polar bear in the garden of some kind of European palace. Daisy and D got away.
Last night, someone broke into our car and stole all our loose change and the GPS. D was remarkably sanguine about the whole thing. “At least they cleared out all those pennies!” he said. They rifled through his work bag but didn’t take any student work. They left the baby’s carseat. They may have taken a thermos. All the evidence suggests that our petty thief is in sadder straits than we are. “Whoever it was needs that stuff more than we do,” D said, channeling the Bishop of Digne. “For drugs or whatever.”
Meanwhile, Ruby can reach the top shelf.
2013 is the year I take some lessons in mindfulness from my baby. From what I’ve read, “mindfulness” is something like being like you’re on mushrooms, without actually being on mushrooms. From what I’ve observed, this is pretty much what it is like to be a baby as well.
My resolutions for the new year: To respond more and react less. To see friends. To stop double spacing at the beginning of sentences. To write things down, or not, and let them go until they can come back as memories, not preoccupations.