I would like to write about a hundred things. I would like to do a hundred things. Now, while my husband is out. Now, while my child sleeps. I can do only one thing. I choose. I can turn on the blender sorter. I can turn on the logic sorter. I can see what happens.

So, here I am. With many things I would like to do.

I would like to make a photograph of the cover of How to Talk So Kids Can Learn and write about freeing children (and myself) from roles. Like: Responsible. Sensitive. Stubborn.

I would like to spread the rotten straw on the garden and into that, plant our vegetable seedlings. I would like to feel the give of the soft, tilled soil intermixed with cow manure.

I would like to work quietly in the nursery, tending to the plants and their expanding green growth. My sleeves becoming wet with this morning's rain.

I would like to lay down next to my child and read him a book as he wakes. We like that.

I would like to write a dozen letters to people I have loved.

I would like to brush crumbs from the table and feel the roughness on the heel of my hand.

Give the dehumidifier a quick, gentle Fonzie tap and cause the buzzing to cease.

I would like to go barefoot and look for edible greens in the soaking wet field.

I would like to be here watching the sun shine through jars on the windowsill. Watch the sparkle turn to grey as a cloud drifts across the sun.