I like Fridays, but I also like Mondays. I spend the first 3 hours of Monday doing my soothing Friday-film job. Today it was re-canning shriveled, sad films from 1948. Film is not a stable medium, yo. Then I go to my stupido Reference class but at least my Tracy Flick TA is away this week and my good good friend is in the class so we laugh all the way through. Then, for the last month or so anyway, one of us says "shall we?" and at 3:30 we go to old wooden dive bar Lind@'s where Monday is $2.50 draft day and order Blue Moon's with their slice of orange and we have a regular booth and a regular bartender who we both love. He is awfully polite, short and skinny and wears a hoodie, which we both agree is really the ideal male garment. Hoodies! And he brings us little extras and we drink beers and talktalktalktalk before it's time to go to our night classes but first I say "We've had the snakes, now it is time for the ladders" so we go to the coffee shop on campus where the bearded beglassed lisping man also knows me and just rings me up without asking what I want (coffee in my own mug that is always always by my side)and then we part ways. And then I go talk about how happiness and libraries go together but it is less annoying than it sounds.
I was going to leave that entry right there but as I finished typing it, my husband was locking the front door and doing the nightly rounds of thermostat adjusting and light-turn-offing and peeked at the baby monitor and said, kind of to himself in this sweet/sad voice: "I love Baby Poops*". Like he wanted to open her door and wake her out of dead sleep just to squeeze her. And it just kinda killed me a little. There are lots of reasons to not want to get a divorce - #1 being, I don't want one - but also, pretty strongly, is I want her to have that kind of unbidden, spontaneous love from two people all her growing up. I like Mondays and I too, love Baby Poops.

* This is her most common and embarrassing nickname.