seen from Australia
seen from Belgium
seen from China
seen from Australia
seen from Russia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from France
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Spain
seen from China
seen from Philippines
seen from Netherlands
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from France
seen from United States
I moved our dining table from our open plan living room into the connected kitchen, and placed it on a rug the kids used to play on. And now the kids all crawl under the table to play on the rug. Which wasn’t the goal at all, but is a nice outcome as it means more floor space and fewer kids underfoot. I highly recommend under table play spaces.
1986 – Debate Prep, Houston
She feels untouchable.
Sharp as the crease in her blazer. Grounded in data, polling, policy. Respected. Her team moves around her with purpose, briefing her on energy subsidies, agricultural exports, education. Topics she could speak on in her sleep. They trust her. Believe in her. And why shouldn’t they?
She’s Ellen Wilson. Former astronaut. NASA Administrator. The girl who caught the tank and the woman who helped prevent World War III with the go ahead for a handshake in orbit.
This Senate race is hers to win.
She’s halfway through rehearsing her closing remarks when a volunteer walks in and sets a fresh mug of coffee beside her. A woman, mid-thirties, maybe. Professional but not stiff, confident in that rare way that doesn’t try to take up more space than it needs. She thanks her softly and steps back, out of the way.
Ellen offers a polite smile. Doesn’t mean to do more than that. But something in the woman’s ease, the unflinching way she holds Ellen’s gaze before moving on, hits wrong. Or right. Or… familiar.
It’s gone as quickly as it comes.
The woman turns back to the conversation unfolding near the maps, and Ellen lowers her eyes to her notes. But the words don’t land the same way they did five minutes ago.
It wasn’t attraction. Not entirely. It was the way confidence can soften around the edges. The way someone can look at you like they’re not impressed by your resume, just curious about who you are underneath it. The way it made her feel unexpectedly seen.
And that feeling… that’s the one that lingers.
Because for one breathless second, it reminded her of Pam.
She stares at the mug of coffee. She knows better than to chase the feeling. That version of her, the one who could lean in and allow herself even a moment of wanting, doesn’t fit this campaign. It doesn’t fit this life.
But the ache is there all the same.
Quiet. Incurable.
No, it wasn't desire. It was grief.
Because she knows now, without any confusion or hope left in her, exactly the kind of person she’s drawn to.
And she also knows she’ll never reach for it again.
She flips to a clean page in her notes, writes the word Education, and underlines it twice.
She has work to do.
But she’s not as untouchable as she thought.
Preemptive celebration:
Inara pooped in the potty today. I was all ready to start the done with diapers party.... And then she pooped on a plate and handed it to me.
“Mommy, if Birth Mom keeps making poor choices, will we adopt Baby Henry?”
Big questions from Greta, who is now six years old and precocious as anything. I explained that Baby Henry is still only visiting us, though it’s longterm (court happened and he’s officially placed with us).
Two days later:
“Mommy, you know how we are getting a baby? Well, maybe Baby Henry could be that baby. And he could live with us forever. But it’s okay if not, because then we can get a different baby instead.”
She was so factual, didn’t seem stressed or concerned. We talked about how Baby Henry will always be her brother, no matter where he lives. That it’s nice to have him be with us right now. That no one knows the future, but that I will always share news with her and Felix after I receive it.
It has not been an easy transition, but it has also been an easy transition. They are all siblings in the most stereotypical ways you can think of (squabbling, jealousy, loving fiercely).
Things don’t feel completely real to me. All of this happening around the holidays has placed us in a sort of limbo - routines are so shuffled already. It’s a break in reality. I assume we’ll come crashing down to earth at some point. I can’t believe I’m raising 3 kids (indefinitely).
Greta: Mommy — I WILL SLEEP ON THE FLOOR.
Me: Sure, go ahead.
Greta: (stares at me in disbelief)
I mean, as long as they’re sleeping, right?
Greta has made a nest on her bedroom floor and honestly I’m kind of jealous.
When I watch Greta now, sassy and cuddly and full of life, I can’t help but remember when she first came to me.
She was a month old and only seven pounds. She came to me in a 0-3 month outfit that was swimming on her. She easily fit in newborn clothes.
She didn’t really respond to adults. It’s hard to explain. She just...was there.
And now she clambers all over me and nuzzles into my side and...I’m so glad she’s here.
I let the kids have Happy Meals in the car after outdoor therapy as a special treat.
Didn’t realize that they had given us (unrequested) BBQ sauce in the boxes. Greta opened a packet and it went EVERYWHERE. Her hands, car seat, pants — dripping with BBQ sauce.
“Mommy, it spilled!”
It’s really not my day.
