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After a few months away, I have returned to the fold of weekly yoga, and I am grateful. This morning's session has the world burning a little brighter, my body much slower and more deliberate, my mind more centered.

Next week is spring break: I have no exotic plans, but I do hope to go up north to visit my oldest and dearest friend Kelly, whose husband is a long-haul trucker and whose nineteen-month-old son is leading her to practicing single parenting. I'm hoping I can give her a little relief; perhaps she can run errands or go out, have an adult conversation in the evening that has nothing to do with the frustrations she faces in her managerial position. I wish we lived closer so I could be a pinch-hitter, pick him up from daycare at least, but alas, our geography and schedules prevent it.

Other tidbits about spring break: Ryan is turning thirty-one. We're both thirty now, and I have to admit, I'm loving this age. I feel more grounded.

Last night, as we were falling asleep, Zephyr began his Iseesomething!Iseesomething! barking, and I whispered to Ryan, "Do you think he ever gets hoarse?" "No, he's a dog." "Maybe he'll go cow instead." Gatsby, who I've nicknamed Ryan's nemesis, began purring between us; clearly he enjoys our evening banter as well.