It is 72 degrees outside.

I’ve just spent 60 minutes reading a book, while my husband does math. We occasionally check the monitors of our son’s class where he is alternately getting high-fives, wiggling, and being very stoic. He bounds out of class and gives his instructor a hug as part of his thank-you. He is all smiles.

We had a plan for dinner, but parking is a pain in the ass so we change our dinner plan. I heard, when I first moved here, that parking was rage-making … I didn’t believe them. Now I know that it IS rage-making but mainly because it is just so unlikely that ALL of the CARS actually belong to people in the closed shops at 6p on Sunday. What the hell??? Anyhow. New dinner plan.

We forget about Clocked all the time. I don’t know why, it is one of the most husband friendly places in town AND (bonus for me) they actually know how to make a hamburger that someone would want to eat. Jeff, who takes after me post-work out, eats a grilled cheese with a fried egg AND bacon on it. The veggie frites are a lovely compliment to my barely dead cow burger.

We sit outside, because it is beautiful out. There is an old tree that shades Jeff’s eyes from the sunset. Everything about the moment makes me want to look straight at the sky through the leaves, I hold my husband’s hand. We see a neighbor who comes over and chats for a little bit. There is a refill on Jeff’s milk.

It is good. It should be unforgettable in the loveliness of it but the normalcy of getting dinner might whisk it all away. So I’ll tell you about it… in the hopes that one of us will remember.