Iona is starting a blog, and we plan for it to live here in Typepadia, with mine. While setting it up yesterday, I messed up my blog, deleting my blogroll and some other things. Stressful, but sometimes losing stuff is a good way to move forward. Moving forward on a Monday. It's possible.

Han adds 'ses' to the end of a lot of words. "There's bookses," he just said, pointing to a pile of them. Then he went up through the construction zone that used to be our house to get in my bed. That's where he wants to sleep these days, my bed. And he started school! It is a very nice place where they feed the children kale.

It is not possible that Iona is in fourth grade and putting up the American flag before class starts. (Something from my chest just reached up and tugged something in my throat and it's making my eyes water.)

Yesterday was more than a tragic day in history. It was my nephew's birthday. It was gloriously sunny. It was a day when a woman I don't know chased our runaway soccer ball down our hill in her pickup truck, stopping three times before she finally got out, grabbed it, and handed it over with a sheepish smile. It was a tragic day in history, too. I heard about this Onion story on NPR while driving, and for some reason it hit me right in the solar plexus and I wept and wept. What does it mean when a made-up humor story about an heinous event is the one that makes you cry hardest? It made me think, too, about how sometimes humor doesn't make you chuckle or laugh. 

It is 7:02 on Monday, and this is the sort of thing I usually scribble in a notebook before 7:00. Today I'm scribbling it here.