To the moon.

The fog was warm and heavy and had turned to rain when I headed for the parking lot. I ducked my head down, I was wearing my glasses. They got wet. At the stoplight I mistook the street lamp for the moon. My heart jumped at how close it was and then I realized. But as I waited for green I kept imagining that it was really the moon.

The cuff of my jeans are still damp, tucked underneath me on the couch. I don't know what to write. I might just eat this whole bowl of snappy green grapes. The house is so so quiet. This is possibly my favorite time of day, but is it okay to say that as a mom? That I look forward to — and so rarely get — those moments when they are all in their own beds, finally asleep, tucked and dreamy. We've had so many late nights of croup and coughing and bed hopping. Right now I fluff my feathers and delight in my nest, eggs safe and sound.

Earlier I read to them, Pig Pig Rides, Gray checked it out from the school library and carried it home in his special plastic drawstring bag with his name on it. Pig Pig went to the moon in a rocket. He drove a big train and rode his bike over a herd of elephants. His mom told him to be careful. I asked what everyone wanted to dream about tonight. Ivy lay upon her belly, propped up by her elbows and hands cupped against her round cheeks. She would go to the moon. I believe she will.

Careful, my love I whispered as I slipped down the stairs to my quiet.

- linking up w/ just write