James and I are up alone this morning, sitting on the sofa. I've been reading, and he's been rearranging stacks of books, pretending to nurse his stuffed kitty, filling and emptying a packing envelope with puzzle pieces, etc. The sky has lightened, but it's still early morning dusk, and James, who has paused in his labors a moment to stand on the sofa looking out the window, notices a faint fingernail sliver.
"Love moon," he says. I start to nurse him, and he pauses every minute or two to look out the window again and make his report. "Moon still there!"
I woke up this morning on the wrong side of bed, thinking angrily about a lot of unsolvable problems. I wanted to be alone for half an hour before the boys got up, so I could keep on thinking angrily without distraction. I don't mean to suggest that angry thinking isn't a worthwhile pursuit, within reason, but the combination of a very small child and astronomy does make it dwindle down into something pretty small and postponeable.
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