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On a recent drive, Elsa and I were talking about hair color (she wants to dye part of hers blue) and I said that maybe when I’m older, and my hair is all gray, I’ll do some blue or red streaks. I reminded her of all the cool things she’s getting to do now that she’s older: And yet: A couple of days later, when I saw that Elsa had added her Baby Simba stuffed animal to the “things I want out of my room that I want you to deal with” pile on the stairs to my office (which has sat there for a month) I double checked: You’re sure you don’t want Baby Simba anymore?

A couple of months ago, Clio spoke the words that strike terror into every meat-eating parent’s heart: “I want to be a vegetarian. ” OK, maybe not terror

I NEED TO BE IN A CHAIR I NEED TO WRITE WHILE ENCLOSED IN A BURLAP SACK, AT THE EDGE OF A PIN OAK SWAMP, AT DAWN, WHILE A DOG BAYS IN THE DISTANCE  AND THE SMELL OF GUNPOWDER LINGERS IN THE AIR. But for the first time in a long time, I’m not working on a book in a focused way.

Also: There’s this place near us, a park with a pond and beach and playground, where we used to take the girls when they were little, called Wright’s Pond. At the entrance, there are  big white letters on the ground spelling out “Wright’s Pond. I’m taking a six-week short story class with Grub Street Writers, where I’ve taught in the past, and which is, in many ways, the hub of my writing community. But right now,  I am really looking forward to a little new writing inspiration.