monday's song.

weekend: we were busy, and we weren't. chris returned from away, a song of footsteps on the staircase and a jingle of keys in the door that will always sound like peace. we walked to baby's music class and went to see about a kettle. we sipped café au laits and nibbled almond croissants, and discussed what's on at the ballet and california in summer. we kissed baby goodnight and went for sushi and a show, and it was the sort of evening people who do not live in new york think people who do have all the time. chris watched the knicks play and i gave the apartment a tidy and francis rolled his firetruck from room to room and we checked the weather for snow. the postman brought a parcel from bridget and i didn't open it right away, so delicious was the anticipation. sunday breakfast was edith piaf and french press and eggs cooked in butter and chives. i watched call the midwife from the bath and sipped milky black tea and bookmarked a recipe for cake and made a pot of red curry. we ate 'round our table in the glow of candles and gratitude. francis finished both his bowl and mine.

-- and this is what we did and this is what we ate and this is what we felt, the week our baby turned one.