The Narrowing
Last night we took the boys to a new park, adjacent to a tee-
ball game—dads yelling from the stands, kids running in
circles. We wound through a new neighborhood to get
there, feeling a million miles from home.
Earlier, I made curry for dinner—I wanted to try a jar of
red Thai curry paste I’d just bought, so in the afternoon
when I should have been working, I made a relentlessly
spicy shrimp and lentil curry, and then a much sweeter one
with chicken and broccoli and carrots, heavier on the
coconut milk, lighter on the curry paste. We ate curry over
brown rice and big bowls of watermelon, and then we ran
around the park, discovering the trails and swings and
slides. And then the boys played with Legos while I put
away dinner and got the house ready for bed—one of my
favorite routines—drapes pulled closed, water glasses on
nightstands, required stuffed animals in each bed.
I had just washed the sheets, so I went from room to
room, putting pillows into fresh cases, smoothing sheets
onto beds, pulling blankets over them, listening to the boys
giggle and build.
Just before bedtime, Henry and Aaron went for a walk
around the neighborhood—big-kid privilege—and I read a